Dark Hours
by Future Memory
Summary: Second installment to A Hole in the World, written from Bonnie's POV. Bonnie falls into a portal to another dimension and Damon follows her without looking back. Where do they go, and how do they get back? Most importantly, how does their time together, apart from everyone else, effect them as people?
1. Chapter 1

_**Everyone who have been following A Hole in the World - welcome back!**_

_**And those who are new here and have no intention of reading the first installment, here's a little introduction - A Hole in the World was written from Stefan's POV, my own version of season 5, focusing mainly on him, Elena and the whole doppelganger curse. When they brought Bonnie back to life, she lost all of her memories, and she became close with Damon who, at the time, was getting over his break up with Elena. Their company worked because it consisted of silence and Damon playing on the piano - Damon didn't want to talk about how he feels, and Bonnie didn't want to talk about what she doesn't remember. Nothing happened between the two of them but, slowly, over time, both of them started developing feelings for each other. Of course, those feelings became obvious to them and others, but they went unsaid. By the end, Bonnie got her memories back, and felt shame of her feelings for Damon, regarding how he treated her in the past and everything else he had done to her, and others. Qetsiyah opened a portal to another dimension, for Stefan and Elena, to punish them. While trying to save them, Bonnie fell into the portal, and Damon followed her. This is where the story continues!**_

_**I hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

There's a difference between falling and flying.

Flying is liberating. It represents freedom, opportunities, choices and direction. You have a complete control over your life. You can go anywhere, be anything, you can visit countries and cities you never even knew exist.

If flying is a reward, falling is the exact opposite of it.

It's uncomfortable, like someone is pushing you down and pulling you up at the same time. Everything inside of you is urging you to scream, but if you open your mouth, air fills your lungs and it keeps filling them to the point where you feel like you're going to explode from the inside.

Falling is uncertain. You can land on a pile of fluffy pillows, or crash against the solid ground and shatter your bones into million pieces.

You learn to fly when you conquer your fear of falling.

It feels like I've been falling for hours already. I'm ready to grow my wings. I'm ready to fly.

I'm surrounded by darkness. I can't see anything except blackness surrounding me, or hear anything except the wind shuffling in my ears, created by the speed I'm falling. It's impossible to be falling by this speed for hours and still be alive - I should be nothing else by particles in the air by now, my body turned back into what it's been made out of. Atoms and ashes and soil. But then again, it's also impossible to be falling for such a long time without meeting the surface.

I shudder because of a certain thought that invades my mind. _Unfortunately, I think the impossible is yet to come._

I can't think. I try to remember how I got here, and where here is, but it's like everything is happening backwards. My life, my memories, everything's been sucked into oblivion, even though I'm aware of my own existence. I know who I am, I just can't seem to say it, not even inside of my head. It's a weird feeling, to be aware of your existence, but not exist at all. Like this place is dissembling who I am, little by little.

Something strange happens then - light pours in from under me. The darkness is hazy gray now. I have a hard time adjusting my eyes to light, especially since it grows the longer I fall. At one point I'm not even sure am I heading towards the light, or is it heading towards me.

At first, there's a small amount of light, coming in through a tiny hole. Then, the hole starts stretching, becoming bigger, and more light comes in. Like I'm coming to an end of a tunnel.

Maybe I'm dead. Maybe this is how dying feels like. I was falling until my heart stopped beating. Until air kept filling my lungs, giving me a power to breathe. That's gone now, so I'm ready to move on to some other life.

I finally reach the light, my toes, my feet are touching it. It's so bright, white, if it weren't so thick I would be able to see right through it.

Then, I fall through it, and it feels like I've been sucked out of a vacuum.

I keep on falling and in _one, two, three_ seconds I'm on the ground. My body hits the ground with such force that I think I've broken every bone in my body. I can't move, my whole body hurts, every muscle underneath my skin is pulsating. My skin feels hot and cold at the same time and my heart is trying to jump out of my chest.

There's no wind, at least not one strong enough to control my hearing.

I can't look properly, though, since my eyelids are falling closed by their own. They refuse to go completely up, no matter how hard I beg them to do so.

I can hear a murmur of water. It's heavy and strong and fast. A river, I'm sure.

It's dark here, like it is before the storm comes. When clouds color themselves gray and hide the sun. Wind is rising, more and more with each passing second, cold air slashing my back. My skin is exposed, my shirt must have rode up my torso when I fell.

I can feel the grass beneath my fingertips, but can't will my eyes to open enough to explore my surroundings. I want to push myself off of the ground. I'm yelling at myself, at my arms and legs, to start working properly, but they refuse to listen. My whole body feels so numb.

My eyelids stop fluttering and, once again, I can't see anything except the darkness. It feels like someone is pulling the ground underneath me and again, I find myself falling. Sinking.

I'm losing conscience.

* * *

I can think clearly now. I can remember everything. Everything is coming back to normal. Well, as normal as the situation allows it to.

_My name is Bonnie Bennett and I fell through a portal to some other dimension to save my friends._

That's the first thing I think as my mind starts waking up. My body is still numb and my head too heavy for my neck that it feels like it attached itself to my shoulders. I shouldn't be surprised by the pain, I should be surprised that I'm alive at all. To crash against the ground after falling by that speed is deadly by all laws of physics. And yet, I'm alive.

My eyelids flutter open, ready to sink my surroundings in, but from this perspective all I can see is grass. I dismiss it so easily, I dismiss it too soon, that I almost miss it. I'm in such a hurry to move on to other things that I almost not notice the color of the grass. It's not green like it usually is, it's dark green, bordering with black. I move my fingers towards it, lifting my fingertips off of the ground. Even such small movement sends a shot of pain through my body and I cry out, silently. I take a blade of grass between my fingertips and start rubbing it. At first, it feels like normal glass - thin and slick - but after some time of rubbing, it starts falling apart. It turns into small, black particles, but heavy in my hand, like they're made out of stone.

I let them fall on the ground from my palm, too freaked out by it.

I inhale deeply, preparing myself mentally for my next move. I bring my hands near my head, twisting them so my palms are on the ground and my elbows in the air. I press my palms harder against he ground, pushing my upper body up.

A whimper escapes my mouth, my spine making a cracking noise. I feel like someone is shooting arrows through my body with every movement I make. I close my eyes and clench my teeth while pushing myself off of the ground.

Finally, I'm on my knees. They're pressing against the hard ground, so hard that I'm sure there's no danger of sinking through it. I take my time before standing on my feet. Once I do, pain wraps around my whole body and starts squeezing it with such intensity that I think I'm going to crawl inside of my body.

As I stand up, it feels like my skeleton is rearranging. Like the fall broke every bone in my body, sending it flying to some other side and separating it from its rightful place. And now, everything is coming into place.

I look up at the sky only to discover a frightening fact - there is no sky. The only thing above me is a gray mass streaked by yellow curvy lines that remind of a thunderbolt. Like the ones you see in the books about Greek mythology.

The only thing I can see around me is grass. Miles and miles of dark, black grass covering the ground. In the distance, there are hills, ones I can't see beyond. There are no trees or bushes or anything but flat ground covered by grass. I can still hear the murmur of water, rushing, colliding, but I can't see it. I can't even distinguish the direction it's coming from because the sound is coming from everywhere.

My clothes are torn a little, most likely from the impact of the fall, or from the sharp wind while I was falling.

I don't know what to do. I keep spinning around my own axis, hoping something new would appear, telling me in which direction to go. I can't just stay here.

Which is when I notice it, a black lump, even blacker than the grass, not so far away from me. At first I think it's a rock - in case even rocks are black here - but it doesn't look like one.

I have to be careful. I don't know the story behind this place, or what it contains.

There's nothing I can use as a weapon, and I don't know if I still have my powers. I can't take my chance and risk getting killed my first day here. Or ever. Not getting myself killed sounds nice.

Then it hits me - the grass. I crouch down, my bones still rattling like I'm hundred years old, and start picking the grass. When I think I have enough, I start rubbing it between my palms and, just like the last time, it starts turning into little rocky clumps. I rub and rub until there's one large clump in my hand, size of a rock. It's easy to mold, like clay, but once it's done, it's sharp and massive. Destructive.

With a weapon in my hands, I start walking into the direction of whatever it is on the ground. If it's actually a rock I'll feel really stupid, seeing as I'm coming at it with a rock.

But when I come closer to it, I know for sure it's not a rock.

Black pants. Black jacket. Black hair. It fits well with the surroundings.

I inhale sharply, but it never goes down. My breath gets stuck in my throat. It's a human. Or at least I hope it is. He's asleep or unconscious or dead, because I can't see his chest rising and falling.

I crouch down, carefully, and roll him over.

When my eyes capture his face, I gasp, stumbling backwards and falling down on my butt.

_Damon._

"Damon," I say his name out loud, half in affection, half in fear of affection, and in that moment I can't recognize my own voice. I clear my throat, hoping it will clear all the signs of attachment from my voice, and say his name again, this time more sharply, "Damon!"

He doesn't budge, though. So I get on my knees and crawl over to him and as I do, as I rub my knees against the grass, it starts turning into rocks which tear my jeans and drive into the skin of my knees.

I grab him by the shoulders and start shaking him crazy, "Damon! Wake up!" I say annoyed, or desperate, or maybe a little bit of both. I don't want to be alone here. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" I chant while shaking him.

His eyelids start fluttering. He's waking up. Once in his life, he's doing what I've asked him to do. I let go of him because my hands got strangely comfortable on his shoulders.

"Bonnie.." he mutters my name, still hazy.

I don't say anything. I don't know what I would say to begin with. I'm scared of how my voice sounds when I say his name and of the whirlpool that starts in the pit of my stomach as an after affect. I remember everything now, and I'm scared of how those memories mean so little to my heart, when they should mean everything.

He opens his eyes and pulls himself up. It's easier for him than it was for me. He heals faster.

"What are you doing here?" I ask angrily. My anger is non existent, but derived from worry. I have to mask that worry somehow.

He looks at me with those blue eyes of his, lost and confused, like a child. Damon never seemed as young to me as he does in this moment. "I fell in," he says, probably the first thing that comes to his mind.

He's stunned. I've never seen Damon quite so lost of track.

"You fell in?" I ask doubtfully, my brows furrowing.

He doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say, because we both know that's a lie.

"Tell me," my irritation grows, "How does one fall into a hole to another dimension?"

By now, he regains his composure, shifting back to his old self. The corners of his lips go up in that signature way of his, "Is that where we are?" he asks, finally looking away from my face. I can see his eyes widen a little when our surrounding registers with him. He had probably never seen anything like this either.

"You followed me, didn't you?" I ask to get his attention back. He looks at me, which is when I know. He doesn't have to say a thing. His look is affirmative. "Damon!" I shriek his name. I can't believe him. I can't believe he would do this. Follow me into such an uncertain situation, knowing we may never find our way home. "You stupid, idiotic, brain dead," I get to my feet, my face completely red. I assume I look like a blowfish. I can't find the right word. I can't concentrate, not with him looking at me the way he is. He's got one eyebrow raised, watching me amused. "Vampire!" I finally blurt out.

He looks like he's going to die laughing. How can he laugh in a situation like this? Few seconds later his expression becomes serious. Something else catches his eye.

"Bonnie," his eyes go wide, my name sounds so soft coming from him, soft in a way that takes my breathe away. He doesn't give me enough time to respond when he says, "Your knees. You're bleeding."

I'm not sure is he worried about my well being or is the sight of blood making him want to suck me dry.

I look down my knees. My jeans are completely torn, more than I've thought. There are perfectly shaped round holes where the material used to be, and my knees are bleeding. I can't either feel or see small rocks on my skin, they must have fallen off.

It doesn't hurt, so I'm not worried. Even though the sight of so much blood makes me stomach queezy, especially since the blood is my own.

"Yeah," I shrug it off, "It's from the grass."

"The grass?" he repeats questioningly, as if I'm crazy for saying such a thing.

Well, I guess, it does sound crazy.

"Yes, the grass is - " I think about explaining it to him, but that would take too much time an energy, so I bend down and pick few blades of grass, "Let me show you," I start rubbing them against my palms until they turn into tiny rocks, separately barely visible.

He watches with fascination. You don't see Damon fascinated by many things, at least he doesn't let it show often.

"It's like clay," I mash those tiny rocks in a bigger one and let it fall down. It gets lost in the tall grass.

He follows my lead. When the grass turns into something solid in his hands, he doesn't say a thing.

He gets to his feet and starts spinning around, exploring.

"Well, we're definitely not in Mystic Falls anymore," he makes a comment while looking up at the sky.

I huff. "Nothing gets past you, does it Damon?" out of some reason, him stating the obvious hits a nerve with me.

He looks at me, half amused, half annoyed by my behavior when, once again, something else makes him shift his attention from me. He frowns, looking towards one of the hills, "Can you hear that?" he asks.

"The water?" I ask, because that's the only noise I can hear. That, and the wind, but I really don't think he's referring to the wind.

It's only now that I realize even though the gray mass above our heads is streaked by thunderbolts, there are no thundering sounds. They're flashing, but they're not manufacturing any sound. Like someone drew them up there.

"No," Damon answers, "This noise.." he can't quite figure it out.

I still can't hear anything. It must be his heightened vampire hearing that's enabling him to hear what I can't.

And soon, I don't have to. Horses appear on the hill in front of us.

Even from this distance I can see there's something wrong with them. They're black, like everything else here, faster than the wind and twice their usual size. All it takes is for me to blink once and they're already at the bottom of the hill.

It takes me some time to notice that the creatures riding them are not humans. They're massive, so massive that I wonder how do those horses even manage to carry them. They have giant muscles all over their body and barely any clothes to cover themselves. Their hair is mid long, but thin and greasy.

"Wh-wha-what are they?" I stammer, fear dripping from every pore in my body. This would be a good time to test do I still have my powers here.

I don't expect an answer to my question. Damon has never been here before, or in any other dimension, that I know of, so I don't expect from him to have an answer. But he surprises me with just one word, "Laestrygonians."

I whip my head around to look at him, stunned. He notices me staring at him so he shrugs, "What? I read."

I can feel laughter bubbling in my lungs, rising in my throat. His answer is so simple, like this is what people usually read before bedtime. Creatures you can stumble upon while visiting other dimensions.

"Huh, and here I thought all that alcohol burned all of your brain cells," I joke, even though situation can be describe as more than inappropriate.

I can see him smirk from the corner of my eye. "I'm glad you kept your sense of humor, witchy," that word tickles me from the inside, "As we're most likely to be eaten alive."

My eyes go wide and I look back at him only to catch him already looking at me.

"Have I forgotten to mention that Laestrygonians are cannibals?" he says as lightly as one would comment the lovely weather we're having today - which we're not - his expression calm. "They live on islands, separated from the civilization, which means this place is most likely not populated by humans," I don't know how can he be so calm while saying this, or how in the world does he know all of this.

I don't even know is he telling the truth, or just making stuff up so at least something around here would make sense. Despite my doubt, I swallow hard.

The giants stop their horses few feet in front of us. The ground shakes as they hope down from their horses.

Damon stands in front of me, shielding my body with his, when they start walking towards us. I can't even imagine what they could do to us, with their long, masculine arms and heavy legs. I wonder how sharp their teeth are. I'm such an easy pray, especially if I don't have my powers - I keep forgetting about checking those - and I don't think even Damon's supernatural strength would do him any good. His protection means nothing, he must know that, and yet, he seems determined. His shoulders are tense, the muscles on his arms tight.

Two giants step in front of us, their large arms hanging by their sides. Just as I think they're going to seize us, one of them mutters, "My lady," and both of them bow.

They're not speaking English, but some weird language. It sounds ancient, extinct. Similar to old Greek. And yet, I can understand them.

I really do hope they're not talking to Damon, that we're not in some weird dimension where sexes are reversed, because if I have to see Damon wearing a dress, I'll kill myself before anyone else gets a chance to do so.

Yet, it seems less likely they're talking to me.

"My name is Lesteros," the giant says, his head bowed, his look glued to the ground, "I hope I'm not asking too much when I ask you to enlighten us with your presence."

I don't say a word. I don't move. At least, not until Damon whispers, "I think they're talking to you," and he steps aside.

I look at him helplessly, hoping he knows what to do next. From the look on his face it's evident that he doesn't. He nods at me to proceed, to follow my intuition.

So I do. "Rise," I say, followed by one quiet _please_.

Giants rise to their feet and it the elegance they handle themselves with surprises me. Judging by their size, I would say they're highly incompetent and clumsy creatures. They don't move or act like monsters at all, but their movements remind me of warriors and knights I've seen in movies.

"We're here on the behalf of our Queen. She sensed your arrival."

"Yes, we come from - "

I start talking, but one of them interrupts me.

"Please, you do not own us an explanation, but you will have to explain yourselves to our Queen. We're here to accompany you to the city."

These creatures seem pleasant and behaved. And Damon said they're cannibals. I don't think cannibals have such manners.

"And tend to your wounds," the other one says. This is the first time the other one has spoken, so I look at him. His wide eyes are on my knees, his pupils following the blood dripping down my skin. I can see hunger in them. Okay, maybe they are cannibals after all. I'm just thankful they seem to know how to control their hunger.

"We just have one question," the first one continues, as if the other one didn't just look at me like he would swallow me as a piece of candy, "Why is your slave not in chains?"

I furrow my brows out of confusion. "My-my slave?" I ask.

He looks towards Damon who's standing by my side and who doesn't look all too happy to be called a slave. "Your slave, my lady," he says, his eyes still on Damon.

"He must have gotten free on our way over here," I decide to accept the rules to their game, "Don't worry, he's not going anywhere," I smile gently, half enjoying this.

Damon, as my own personal slave. How things change.

"Of course," the giant repeats, "Shall we?" both of them turn around and start walking towards their horses, the first one looking at us over his shoulder.

"We shall," I say, my throat contracting after those words come out.


	2. Chapter 2

We start walking towards the direction the creatures have come from. They're walking in front of us, taking long, big strides, that we have trouble keeping up with them. The reigns of their horses, or the creatures that resemble horses, are tight in their grip as they walk together hand in hand.

I watch the grass crumble under their feet, but it doesn't turn to stone. It just pops back up, like it's made out of rubber. Maybe longer contact is needed for it to shift its shape.

I look up at the stormy sky, a gray whirl streaked by thunderbolts. It creeps me out that there's no sound at all - no lightning, no wind, no nothing.

"Tell me," I say authoritatively. I can see, from the corner of my eye, Damon whip his head up in surprise, towards me. There's a _what the hell do you think you're doing_ expression on his face, but he doesn't say anything, and I don't have to explain myself to him. "Why is the sky like this?" I try to stop my voice from quivering. I don't think I stand higher than these creatures, I don't think I have authority over them - quite the opposite, I fear them. But they seem to think they're below me or, in the least, they're following orders given to them.

One of them looks up at the sky, like he hasn't even noticed it before, "The sky changes with our Queens mood," by the tone of his voice I conclude that's Lesteros speaking. His voice is much warmer and friendlier than the other ones, who hasn't even introduced himself to us.

I swallow. She can't be in a very good mood if she's feeling storm and thunderbolts.

"But why is there no sound?" I push for further explanation.

"The sound, my lady?" every time he addresses me with _my lady_, I can feel my cheeks turning red.

"Yes. There's no thunder, or wind," I explain.

The other one releases a large breath of air. "That happens only when our Queen is extremely agitated," he answers, "Keep asking her this many unnecessary questions and you will see as much thunder as your heart wishes," he spits out, clearly annoyed.

"Dantos," Lesteros says in a calming tone of voice. His voice is warm, full of affection, but there's also a bit of warning in there. The other creature - Dantos, I take is his name - looks at him before his shoulders slump and he buries his look to the ground apologetically.

"You can ask us as many questions as you would like," Lesteros looks at me over his shoulder, something similar to a smile decorating his wide, thick lips.

My mind starts railing, I have so many questions, I don't know which one to ask first. Before I get a chance to pick one, a familiar sound fills my ears. It's so strange, hearing something again - something other than voices - something so normal in this abnormal environment. I can hear the rush of water again, but now, we're way closer to it than we were before.

I look back and the fact that we came a long way from the spot we were standing on surprises me. We're almost at the bottom of the hill.

When I turn my head around to look straight in front of myself, I see it. The river. It looks quite normal, as rivers back home do. I'm surprised the water is not black as well.

It's narrow, but fast. It's so clean I can almost see the bottom, which means it can't be deep. When we approach closer, I can see it doesn't run straight - there's a curve. Maybe it goes in a circle, maybe that's why it seemed to me like the sound is coming from everywhere when I've first heard it.

Just as I wonder how we're going to pass to the other side, I notice a path made out of stones in front of us. I guess I wasn't able to see it because of the size of the creatures in front of us. The horses jump over the river without any problems, Lesteros and Dantos have to step on just one stone - with the tips of their fingers, because their feet are much larger than the stones - to get to the other side. But Damon and me have to step on every stone, jumping from one to another because the distance between them is still too wide for us, dancing left to right because of their zigzag formation.

"Who is your Queen?" I decide to ask once we're on the other side of the river, since I was given permission to ask whatever I want.

"She's.." I notice confusion in Lesteros' voice as he struggles to answer my question, "She's the Queen," he says, like that explains everything.

"No, I mean, what is she?" I prolong my question, "A vampire, a werewolf?"

Dantos bursts into laughter even before I finish my question, but Lesteros' shoulders tense before he starts shaking his head. I don't know is that an answer to my question or is he disapproving Dantos' behavior, or maybe both.

"Please," I notice how tight Lesteros' voice has gotten, like he would rather scream at me, but his manners don't allow him to, "Don't insult our Queen like that. Vampires and lycanthropes are foul creatures," his voice is full of disgust, like just saying the names of their species burns his throat.

I feel Damon tense beside me. He's been quiet the whole time. I'm not used to Damon being quiet. He always has a comment, even if he knows it will get him in trouble.

I frown. "Foul?" I ask.

"Unnatural," Lesteros explains almost immediately, "They were created by magic, not nature. Different species look differently because they have been born like that, but vampires and werewolves are made."

There's as much logic in that explanation as there isn't. But then again, humans tend to show distaste for every other species that is not human. We hate the unknown, and that hate is born from fear. We think we're above everything else and don't acknowledge any other species as equal. But Lesteros doesn't seem to show hate towards vampires and werewolves because they're different, but because they're not born. I guess, to him, they're what robots are to us.

I inhale sharply through my teeth. "You shouldn't have come, Damon," I say quietly, almost bitterly. I'm annoyed because he had put himself in danger for no reason at all. Him being here only causes more trouble for both of us, since these people, or whatever they are, despise vampires. I barely hear those words coming out of my mouth myself, so I'm sure the creatures before us haven't heard me either. But I know Damon did.

He stays silent for a while before answering with a certain amount of resolution in his voice. "You saved my brothers life," he swallows audibly, "I couldn't just let you go alone, not after that."

Wrong answer. If anyone owes me anything, it's Stefan. Damon doesn't owe me jack.

"I saved Elena's life as well," I challenge him.

When you're over someone, you don't mind saying their name. But Damon leaves Elena out from every situation and every conversation. Like she doesn't exist at all. Which is how I know he's still holding on to her, even if it is by a thread.

"Yes," he squeezes out, "You saved her too."

I open my mind to retort, when Lesteros cuts in.

"Here we are!" he shouts, which is when I notice we've fallen quite behind them. They're already at the top of the hill, looking down.

So I hurry behind them and Damon follows me. I bet he wishes he could use his supernatural speed now.

When I reach the top, I come to a halt. I stop so abruptly that Damon bumps into me.

"What the - " he starts, but then shuts his mouth when his eyes fall on what's on the other side of the hill.

"Is that..?" I swallow.

He doesn't say anything for several moments, droplets of fear probably sliding down his throat. Then, he opens his mouth and says quietly into my ear, "If you meant to ask is that a gigantic, rotting tree, then the answer is yes. Yes, yes it is," he dismisses me like the sight in front of us is something you see everyday. His breath is neither hot nor cold, but it tickles my skin.

I inch away from him.

"Welcome to Cavis Terrae," Lesteros roars, his voice thick and loud, full of pride, "Come!" he mimics with his hand for us to follow before both him and Dantos start running down the hill, their horses right beside them.

* * *

When we start going downhill, I realize why Damon's been so quiet this whole time. Not because he's afraid, but because he was trying to find an escape route. He doesn't trust the creatures, despite Lesteros' nice manners and mellow nature.

Of course, I've been thinking about running as well, but there's nowhere to run. Or, better said, there's too much space to run and none at all to hide. Plus, the horses are so fast, and judging by their giant feet so are the creatures, we wouldn't even stand a chance. They would catch us in a matter of minutes. Seconds, even.

Damon was wrong, the tree is not rotting - it's simply old. Its color is dark brown, bordering with black and the trunk has unbelievably many wrinkles. Everything about it is unbelievable, starting from its size. I've never seen a tree quite so big. A tree so big shouldn't even exist. With it's long, wide roots which are, somehow, above the surface, it's the size of a small town. All the residents of Mystic Falls would fit into it.

The roots go for miles, until they finally reach the tall tree trunk in the middle, then they keep extending to the other side, too far for my eyes to reach. The roots are enormous, thick and tall, like buildings. The space between them is even and wide, but most of all - muddy. The trunk towers above it all, right in the middle, like a lighthouse. Its branches are long and sickly looking, there are no leafs on them, but there are some vines hanging from their pointy ends.

It's dark, so dark that I can't see absolutely anything until Lesteros and Dantos each light a torch and start leading us between the roots. I wonder where those torches came from, but I couldn't see anything in the dark, I could only hear them shuffling things around and my own heavy breathing. In the dark, Damon inched toward me, his hand hovering next to mine, his little finger touching mine. I don't know if he did it on purpose, if those twitches were intentional or an accident, but whatever the reason, I didn't move. I felt safer with him near me, feeling him next to me, even though touching a vampire will never stop creeping me out - their bodies are always on the room temperature. I never thought there will come a day when I'll associate Damon Salvatore with safety.

The sky is not gray here - it's completely black. With no thunderbolts. It looks like someone painted the canvas black and hanged it up there.

The eery silence tickles my nerves. The lack of sound is truly frightening, so I concentrate on the sound of our feet meeting the ground.

Then, I hear something - a buzzing sound. Flapping of wings.

I can feel a light wave of air on my face.

I look up at Damon's illuminated face - he had heard it as well. He's looking around, his eyes intent on finding the source of the sound. I wonder does he see better in the dark as well. I have never thought of that before. It seems logical since vampires can't walk in the sunlight and they hunt by night.

"Don't be alarmed," the sound of Lesteros' voice makes me jump, "Those are just the residents of Cavis Terrae," he says like he can read our minds. "They're hiding. Were not used to having visitors here," he offers a further explanation.

When I look at it closer, and better, this place does seem to resemble a town, in its own way. There are dents in the roots, holes that resemble an entrance. And the way the space between the roots is organized, it reminds me of streets.

"No?" Damon asks sarcastically, "You mean this is not the top vacation spot?" he comments. I look at him, at first horrified. He might think we got nothing to lose anymore, but we do. As of now, everything is uncertain and we have to take every step carefully.

"Vacation?" Lesteros asks confused. Apparently, he doesn't understand sarcasm, so I grin at Damon. It might have been a dumb move, but it provided me with a feeling of normalcy. Damon keeping his mouth shut might be safer, but its frightening in its own way. "I do not know of that word."

Dantos grunts unappreciative. "It's where the royalty goes," he says, "Elisium."

"Hmm," is all Lesteros says to that. He doesn't doubt the other creature. "Vacation," he repeats, like a child who just learned a new word and can't stop saying it.

After what seems like hours of walking, we finally reach the trunk. There's a hole in it, shaped like a door, with an arch above, large enough for Lesteros and Dantos to squeeze in. They step aside, allowing us to go first this time. I look at Damon, only to catch him already looking at me. We share a moment, a look of uncertainty, until he finally nods and steps in. I follow him.

The creatures leave their torches aside, so it becomes dark again. But as soon as we round the first corner, a slight amount of light pours in. I look up to see where it's coming from, but as far as I can see, there are no openings.

"There," Damon finds himself beside me, pointing his finger at something on the inside wall of the tree. Then I see it, something hanging there, something like a tiny bird cage, but covered with plastic. There's something in it, a bunch of somethings, bright and yellow and tiny. There are cages every few feet, I notice.

"Fireflies?" I ask.

Damon is looking around, his eyes going wildly from one spot to another. Just as I think he's too distracted to hear me, he nods affirmatively. "I think so," he answers.

It's damp in here, and it smells funny. Like Spring gone terribly wrong.

We reach the flight of stairs, built in the ground, going in the circle.

We start climbing them, and we climb and climb and climb and just when I think there's no end to it, we reach the surface.

We reach a room, strangely beautiful, as beautiful as a room built inside of a tree trunk that looks like an evil creatures from a Grimm tale can be.

There's no mud anymore, but beautiful light brown wood, hard and steady under my feet. There are vines all over the walls and on those vines there are flowers, all painted in black.

It seems so unnatural, but the color doesn't seem to be fake. I guess everything grows black here.

There are holes in the trunk, holes that resemble windows, letting the air in, and that weird scent from earlier.

In the middle of the room, there's a throne made out of dark branches, probably from this very tree, because they look like sewed bones. The throne is simple in its construction, but it's enormous, like it's made for a giant.

Which is ironic, because there's a tiny woman sitting on it. If it weren't for her face, I'd think that she's a child.

Her face is strong and hard and determined - quite frankly, she looks pissed. Her hair is orange, sunset orange, and there are two big, deep blue marbles for her eyes. And her skin.. well, her skin is green. But not that weird too-dark-to-be-green color I'm seeing everywhere, but green like a cut of fresh grass back home.

"Who is this?" her voice echoes through the room, shaking every bone in my body. There are goosebumps on my skin, even though I'm neither hot nor cold - this place doesn't seem to have a temperature.

Lesteros falls to his knees, his head bowed down, his eyes glued to the ground, before speaking up, "They came through the portal, Your Grace. You sent us for them."

Her expression stays the same for quite some time, until something flashes on her face. A memory. "Oh yes, yes, yes," her voice doesn't seem so frightening anymore, but then, she fixes her look back on us. "What are you?" she roars angrily, "I don't like the color of your skin," she comments.

She doesn't like the color of my skin? She's freaking green.

"It's so unusual," she murmurs to herself, watching me carefully.

Unusual? My skin? Does she own a mirror?

"You look like you've been rolling around in the mud. I can't allow pigs to live in my land. Off with her head!" she orders dramatically, raising her hand in the air and pointing her long finger at me.

I swallow. My throat is dry so words wouldn't be able to come through it, not even if I had any. My mind is a desert, it's like everything inside of me stopped working, ignited by fear, when she pointed that finger at me.

"She's a witch," Damon says calmly, but I can recognize the panic in his voice. He seems to think this piece of information could cause more good than harm.

"A witch?" she says amused, "We don't have many witches here," her voice is flat at this discovery. She shifts her attention to Damon with a sullen look on her face, "And what are you?"

"He's human," I say almost instantly when I remember Lesteros' words about vampires, at least before Damon gets a chance to screw everything up with what seems an appropriate answer to him.

I can feel him looking at me from the corner of his eyes, surprised I would speak up now when I wasn't able to before. Honestly, the sound of my own voice surprises me as well.

"A human," the Queen nods, "For a moment there I thought you're a vampire or a werewolf or some other disgusting creature," she frowns, crinkling her small round ball of a nose, "It's not like human is any better, but at least now I don't have to hunt you down." As she says those words, something sparks her memory, "Wait!" she screams - as if anyone is going anywhere - "If you're human, that means you're a slave!" she seems quite proud of herself to remember that piece of information. "So why are you allowed to speak up without permission? And where are your chains?" she insists.

So here, humans are slaves and, somehow, me being a witch doesn't classify me as a human. It doesn't classify me for slaughter either, even though my power is strictly magic, the same magic vampires and werewolves came out from. But then again, I was born like this, like a witch, in a family line old almost as witches themselves, so I guess that classifies my power as natural. Witch magic does come from nature, after all.

I wonder are there many humans here, enslaved. How did they get here? My throat tightens and my mind starts raging wild at the thought of thousand innocent humans being enslaved by these creatures by no other fault but what species they belong to.

Then, her eyes go wide, freakishly wide - like in the cartoons - and start shimmering like she's about to cry. She stands up, and I gasp - there's no clothes on her body. She's completely naked. But the green on her skin seems to serve to something similar of a shell.

Big, thin, orange wings - the same orange as her hair - flutter from her back, and she clasps her hands before her.

"Is this a love story?" she squeals, and all of a sudden both her voice and expression on her face match her childlike posture. All of a sudden, light pours in through the windows. Sunlight. Its beams reach us, color our skin, but they're not warm. It's like they don't have no other purpose but being a decoration. I remember Lesteros saying the weather here is influenced by the Queens state of mind.

For a moment there I'm confused about how old she actually is, but when she opens her mouth to speak again, I realize that it doesn't really matter.

"Is that why you fled your world?" she asks cheerful, all chipper, like a small bird, "It rare for a master and a slave to fall in love, but it does happen," she talks like she's not even talking about our lives, but about a content of some book or a movie, "I can see why you would leave. Humans frown upon their own nationalities and races mixing, I can't even imagine what they would think about species mixing. So short minded, human beings," she spits those words out.

I wonder how come she knows so much about humans, but I don't ask. I don't have enough courage to.

When we don't answer, she grows impatient. "Well, is it?" she raises her voice at us.

"No!" I yell back.

My mind goes to Jeremy. There's only one boy I've ever loved and that's Jeremy Gilbert. If I would flee our world for any man willingly, that would be him.

But thinking about Jeremy only creates a hole in the pit of my stomach, when I remember how easily he backed away when he realized I don't have my memories, and how easily I had let him. How I didn't miss him, or need him, at all. How without remembering who he is, I didn't feel any romantic connection to him at all, but rather protective brotherly one.

"No," I say again, this time more calmly, "Us being here is a mistake, we fell through the portal by accident." Well, at least one of us did.

"Oh," the Queen says disappointingly, slumping back on her throne, "Mistakes and accidents are so human like. Only mortals have a reason to worry about them," she dismisses me, yawning, "I'm bored with you now. Throw them in the dungeon."

She's overreacting, she's being dramatic with that _throw them in the dungeon_ command. Just like she was with _off with her head_ one.

At least that's what I think until I feel someones strong hands on my arms, squeezing them behind my back, and I'm being lifted off of the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

"Let me go!" I shriek as the giant carries me through dark, unlit hallways, his hands squeezing me tightly as I try to set myself free. I'm so tiny in his arms, weightless, like a beetle.

It reeks in here, but I can't identify the scent. Maybe it's better that way. The stale air is making my stomach run in circles. I can hear water dripping from somewhere, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

"Let. Me. Go," I say each worth separately, as a kind of a warning. The idea of me threatening this beast seems preposterous, but I do it anyway.

I can't stand being close to these creatures for one more minute. The feeling of my body being glued to theirs is making me puke. They're not at all what I've thought of them. They're not polite, they're just following the rules. They don't have enough free will to have nice manners. Damon was right about them, I should have listened to him.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, Damon speaks up - "Give it a rest, Bonnie, they won't listen to you."

Once again, he's right. He's been right a lot lately, it's becoming annoying. So far, the creatures haven't said anything to me, or done anything to subside my protests. They just kept walking, pretending I'm not even there, paying no attention to me or my words.

But Damon speaking up irritates one of them so much that he growls loudly, making goosebumps appear on my skin. "Keep your mouth shut, slave," he hisses angrily, his voice full of venom.

Damon doesn't say another word. Soon we come to a halt and I can hear the iron doors creaking. I start to wonder what kind of a place, what kind of a construction is this? This tree can't possibly be real, or natural. Is there some kind of a magic involved?

The creature doesn't throw me down, but he doesn't exactly lay me down gently. I can feel his body bend as he crouches down. He bounces my body out of his arms and I hit the ground with a silent thump, landing straight on my elbow.

"Ow," I make a low sound as I rub my elbow with the fingers of my other hand, checking for scratches or bruises. There are none, as far as I can tell, even though there's a sharp pain pulsating under my skin.

Damon wasn't as lucky as me - the creature threw him down so hard that I think I've heard a bone breaking somewhere in there. Even though I know he will recover and heal in no time, I get this strong urge to go over there and help him, an urge I have a hard time trying to suppress. I can hear him grunt something under his breath.

The creatures start walking away, I can hear their heavy boots and even heavier footsteps hitting the ground with the each step they make.

"Wait!" I yell after them, panicking, "You can't just leave us here!" the ground is damp, covered in water. At least I hope that the liquid I'm feeling under me is water. My clothes got soaked when I hit the ground. "Especially not in the dark!" we can't see where we're going, or how much space we have, or if there's anything else in here.

But the creatures either can't hear me anymore or they pretend that they can't. They walk away from us, shutting the iron gates behind them.

"Of course they can," I hear an unfamiliar voice, tight and squeaky one.

It makes me jump, it makes the blood in my veins freeze in fear. I starts pulling myself away from the place I'm sitting, feeling the soft ground under my fingertips, all the way until I finally hit the iron gate, its springs driving into my back, making my spine yell in pain.

"Who's there?" Damon asks cautiously.

As I move, I realize I'm close to Damon. I can feel his body vibrating, his muscles rigid. He's ready to spring into action if the situation demands.

"Miriam," the voice answers calmly.

I frown at the simplicity of the answer. "Miriam who?" I ask.

The voice keeps quiet for quite some time before replying in a tone probably more confused than mine. "Just Miriam," she says, like I've asked her the most mind boggling thing ever.

"Why is there no light in here?" I ask, my body stiff while leaning against the cold, slippery iron.

"To keep me weak," she says drowsy.

I don't understand, but if there's one thing I've learned here it's that I don't understand a lot of things about this place. Asking one more question would just create more confusion and million more other questions.

"Are you okay?" I whisper while leaning to reach Damon.

I knew that he's close, but I didn't know that he's this close, just few inches away from me. So, as I lean on my side, my head falls on his shoulder. I rest it there, feeling peaceful for the first time since we got here, until he speaks up and I realize what I'm doing.

"Yes," I can tell that he's in a bad mood by the sound of his voice, "Why do you ask?"

I can't really blame him for not being exactly cheerful. They've treated us shitty, him shittier than me. "I thought I've heard a bone break," I answer him.

He doesn't reply in a while and when he does, he does it wearily, through a whisper, "It healed. Do you think you can start a fire?"

I frown, even though he can't see it. "And how do you propose I do that, especially on this wet ground?" I ask with a bit of laughter in my voice.

He snorts. "With your power, witchy," he tells me.

Yes, I've been trying to find a way to see if my power still works here, but every time the thought popped into my mind, something else happened and I didn't want to risk exposing us.

Him mentioning my power reminds me we're not alone here and our guest has been awfully quiet.

"I can try," I reply.

I close my eyes and do my best to clear my mind of any thoughts, even though that's extremely difficult to do, especially in a situation like this. Yet, somehow I manage to do it - I set myself free and concentrate on the image of fire in my mind.

All of a sudden, I can see everything around me light up under my lowered eyelids. I open my eyes only to see a decent sized flame on the palm of my hand lighting up the whole room, which is not much when it comes to size, but still.

Which is when I see the source of the third voice - she's sitting in the corner, looking weak and exhausted and unfed. She looks exactly like the Queen - just a little bit paler, maybe even taller, and her face seems much more open and friendlier.

Then she opens her mouth and says, gently, "Oh, a sister."

Her eyes look so tired, she's barely keeping them open.

"A sister?" I ask, my expression hopefully conveying confusion I'm experiencing.

"Yes," she manages to nod lightly, "I thought I've felt the source of a familiar power. We have the same mother."

I squint at her. "I don't mean to sound offensive," I say, and I really don't, "But I think I would have know if my mother gave birth to a child with wings."

False. I really wouldn't. My mother left when I was a kid. She could have given birth to a pterodactyl and I wouldn't have known.

"I don't mean your birth mother," she giggles, "I mean the mother who gave you your power. Mother Nature," she explains.

Oh. That makes much more sense.

"Are you okay?" I ask, watching her carefully. I don't trust her. I don't think I should trust anybody here. But she doesn't seem much of a threat in this state. "You seem weak," I clarify my question.

"I've been down here, in the dark, for too long," her voice is becoming melodic, like a soft tune, something you would put your child to sleep with, "The lack of light is making me weak. Us, Fairy people, we depend on life sources such as light and dirt and water and wind and many more," she explains in a friendly manner, despite her tiredness, "I'm afraid there's not much of it here. I was wondering," she says pleadingly, "If you could come closer to shine some light on me," she looks at the flame in my hand.

I furrow my brows. "Would it help? I mean, it's magic," I try to find logic in it, but here, logic is lacking. Or at least the logic I'm familiar with.

"Your magic comes from nature," she explains.

Okay, that seems logical. Maybe I'm just too tired and confused by the new situation we found ourselves in to think straight.

I start to get up, to get closer to the fairy, as she called herself, when Damon grabs my other hand, stopping me.

"Bonnie," he says my name carefully, looking at me with a determined look in his eyes.

Miriam's own eyes go wide as he grabs me, probably because she thinks he will stop me from giving her what she needs.

"Do you really think that's wise?" I hear him ask with a certain amount of affection in his voice.

I look at the fairy, her small, lean figure slumped over a rock in the corner of this tiny prison. Her skin is pale, like someone drained every drop of blood out of her body. Her wings are sprawled behind her - they look broken. I know I shouldn't trust her, and yet, I do. There's something about her that makes me believe every word she says.

"It's okay," I say as I pull my hand out of Damon's grip, "It's okay," I say it one more time, quietly, as I make my way to her.

The light of the flame pours over her tiny figure. I stand there in silence, in my wet clothes that started pinching my skin, watching her face grow warmer and warmer. She smiles and whispers to me, "Thank you."

I smile back, as genuinely as I can, in a terrifying situation as this one. As far as I know she can lunge on me as soon as she gets her energy back.

Her skin starts getting from snowy white to freshly green. Her whole body starts toning in color - from her hair and eyes to her colorful wings. Her wings are not one colored like the Queen's, they're a mix of many different colors just pouring into one another, you can't exactly see where one ends and the other one begins. I'm amazed by their beauty, as well as with the sunny yellow color of her hair and the golden in her eyes.

Miriam rises to her feet now - yes, she's taller than the Queen, but still quite tiny - and smiles at me with the same warm smile she gave me not so long ago. "Thank you," she thanks me one more time before her eyes go to Damon who's still sitting on the ground, "Even though your vampire wouldn't do the same."

"He's not my vampire," I go by my first instinct.

She shifts her attention to me, her eyes sparkling with interest. Her small purple lips form into a grin, "Interesting how that's the first thing you've heard," then her eyes become darker, more serious, specks of sympathy playing in them. "His heart may be dark, but he cares for you," she says like he's not even there.

I try to ignore that last sentence and concentrate on the first one. My eyes widen as I realize it, "How did you know he's a vampire?" I look at Damon who must have gotten it before me, because there's fear in his eyes. It's so rare to see Damon afraid. I've only seen it one more time before - when he thought he's losing Elena for good.

"I can smell it on him," she cocks her head to the side, "Fairy people are in touch with the nature. And there's nothing natural about him."

"Isn't the Queen a fairy as well?" Damon asks wearily, getting to his feet, "How come she didn't know?"

"The Queen.." Miriam says, but it sounds more like a question, like she had forgotten who the Queen is. "Oh, the Queen," something sparks her memory, but then her eyes, and the whole area around them, grows dark, "You mean Letitia. She's a child. Nothing more but a stubborn, spiteful, vengeful child," she spits out, "Fairy people have only one Queen and Letitia is not her."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Damon says cockily.

"Letitia was banned from our land. When she came here, she stopped living by the ways of our people. She still has her power, but it's twisted, it's dark. How do you think this place became what it is now?" she looks at Damon with distrust, apprehensively, but answers him anyway, "Laestrygonians can't know the species unless they taste them. You're lucky you didn't run into the Hounds, they would have smelled you from miles away."

Something else catches my attention, though. "You banned a child from your land?" I ask disgustedly, more than I've initially intended.

Miriam looks at me sharply, as if she's judging me by the weight of my words and the tone I've used for them. "There are some crimes not even children can be forgiven for," she says grimly.

By the sound of her voice, I know better than to ask any more related questions.

"What is this place?" Damon asks after several seconds of horrible silence.

"Cavis Terrae," Miriam says, calling it by the same name creatures have called it, "It's where those who don't belong anywhere else live," she clarifies. "Letitia started it. Believe it or not, this used to be a beautiful land. No one's land, but still beautiful. Then she came," her voice is full of disgust, "With her fury and darkness and made it look like this. Then the other came, others who were banned from their lands or left on their own terms, and together they make such a powerful army because they don't have any rules."

"How do humans come here?" I ask almost immediately after she finishes. "They said humans are slaves here, they thought Damon is mine."

Miriam smiles secretively, but then her face grows serious again, "They get lost, or they stumble into a portal without knowing it. Your world, it's filled with portals someone forgot to close."

This shocks me. I didn't know this. I've never heard of it. I guess it is possible to just disappear from the face of the Earth after all.

"How did you come here, anyway?" Miriam asks curiously.

"Through a portal," Damon answers, tense. These two don't trust each other. But then again, Damon doesn't trust anyone. He barely trusts himself. "It's a long story," he says in a tone which means this topic is closed for discussion.

"What about women?" I thought pops into my mind.

Miriam looks at me confused, "Excuse me?"

"They kept saying human males are slaves," I clarify, "What about females? What happens to them?"

Miriam keeps quiet for a while, her eyes stilled on me, before answering - "They eat them."

"Laestrygonians?" I ask.

"And other creatures who feed on flesh."

This makes my blood boil. I can feel myself becoming red in the face.

"But why?" I ask aggressively.

"They consider human females weak, they have no other use of them. Males have muscle, females have nothing," she says this so lightly as if she believes in it herself. "Although," she continues, "There are some who keep females for other purposes."

"Like?" I ask, blinded by anger.

Miriam doesn't say anything, she just stares at me, like she's trying to tell me something with her eyes. I stare back at her, until I finally get it.

I gasp - "They rape them?" I ask in disbelief.

Again, Miriam doesn't say anything, she just bows her head shamefully.

"That's - " my voice is seething with anger and disgust. There's a vortex of emotions and thoughts inside of me, starting at my toes and spreading through every other part of my body. How dare they? How dare they trap innocent people? Enslave them? Kill them? Take sexual advantage of them! People with homes and family and lives of their own! Possibly even children! Oh God, maybe they are children themselves! What happens if a wandering, clumsy child falls through one of those portals? Just the though of it makes me stomach reel, making me want to puke. "That's disgusting! Dehumanizing! What kind of a monstrous place is this? Don't you have a soul?" I roar.

She looks at me intently, her golden eyes squeezing into small circles. "Yes, it is disgusting. Very," she agrees, her small sharp teeth biting into her tiny lower lip, "But don't act like your humans are any better. You can't stand diversity among your own species. Men and women fight over their position in the society constantly, like there's not enough space for both. You murder each other for no reason," she raises her voice, "Yet, I never assumed you would do any of those things to me. Judge me on my species or sex, or even murder me. I didn't put you in the same box with the rest of the human species, so I'd appreciate if you didn't assume all of us are the same as well."

Her words knock the air right out of my lungs. She's right. I got carried away. Us, humans, we're vile and rotten as well. There are good, and there are bad people. I guess the same could be said for other species.

"Do everyone around here feel the same about vampires?" Damon asks suddenly, like none of this concerns him. I guess not. He did far worse things than the ones I've accused Miriam of.

Miriam looks at him, shaking her head. "Not everyone. There are sympathizers, those who believe vampirism is just a disease you can control in order to save the human underneath. Some like to drink vampire blood, while others like vampires to drink from them. Some are neutral. There are congregations of vampires spread throughout the woods. Every night hunters go in there with the Hounds to hunt them," she explains, her eyes flickering from Damon to me.

"How about you?" he asks her.

She keeps quiet for a while, probably deciding on how to answer this. "I was raised to hate vampires," she says honestly, "But being trapped in here made me realize I've been raised to think a lot of things that are not true," she says sadly. Her whole face drops and it slashes right through my heart.

"How many species are there here?" I ask.

"A lot," she answers, "Hundreds and hundreds."

"Any more witches?" my curiosity grows.

"Just a few. You should not trust all of them," she warns me before looking behind her back. "Move that rock," she tells me.

I furrow my brows, confused by her sudden command, "Why?"

"Because there's a hole you can escape through behind it," she says calmly, still looking in the direction of a rock.

Damon growls, "Why the hell didn't you say anything sooner?"

She looks back at us, spinning her head slowly, her tone quiet and calm when she says, "You didn't ask."

Before Damon gets some crazy idea to jump on her and strangle her with his bare hands, I make a motion with my hand and move the rock from its position. Miriam was right, behind it there's a decent sized hole. I hurry towards it and crouch down to look through it, but the only thing I can see is more darkness.

"It will take you to the other side of the tree than the one you came from. Run. Run as fast as you can, before they notice you're gone," Miriam says with a heavy voice.

I look up at her. "You're not coming with us?" I ask confused. I wonder why she didn't escape sooner, if she knew there's a hole in here, but then I remember the state she was in when we found her.

She shakes her head no. "Letitia had put a spell around the tree that disables me from escaping. It won't work on you, you're not Fairy people," she looks away, there are tears in her eyes. I wonder how long she's already in here? She probably misses her home, her family, her friends. Her life. She's no different than all those innocent humans they've captured. She's a prisoner in her own world, by someone who is one of her own.

"Fairy people can do magic as well?" I ask, surprised.

She nods. "Different than yours, but yes," she inhales sharply, quickly changing the topic, "You will come to a crossroad," she says, "Whatever you do, don't go left," she warns.

"What's left?" something urges me to ask.

"Veneficium Humus," she says, longing evident in her voice, "Where the Fairy people live."

I get to my feet. "But we could tell your people you're here!" I insist, "They could come for you!"

She lowers her look down. "They haven't come in years," her voice is dripping with sadness and despair, "Plus, Letitia will probably have me killed as soon as she realizes I've helped you escape. There's no chance you would ever arrive there in time," she raises her look, but not at me, at Damon, "They would also kill him."

Tears swell in my eyes. She could have kept her mouth shut. She didn't have to tell us about the secret hole. She saved us knowing there's no way to save herself. I instantly realize I've made a giant mistake by putting her in the same box with these awful creatures who brought injustice to her as well, and now I realize why she got so mad when I did so.

"There's no need for all of us to die," she says.

Damon scrambles towards the hole, looking through it.

"Thank you," is all I manage to squeeze out.

"If you.." she starts, her voice cracking, "If you ever do find yourself among the Fairy people, ask for Drogis. She's my sister."

"Bonnie," Damon says, his voice urgent, telling me it's time to go.

"I will," I nod, one, two, three times, a tear sliding down my cheek.

I move towards Damon, who shares a quick look, full of understanding and gratefulness, with Miriam. That surprises me, as much as it doesn't.

I put the flame on my palm out before we lurch into the hole and darkness swallows us.


	4. Chapter 4

We crawl through a narrow, dirty, wet tunnel in complete silence, surrounded by darkness. The only thing I can feel is mud sticking to my palms and knees, making them slippery. I can hear Damon shuffling in front of me, muttering something every now and then, but I can't hear what. I don't ask either.

We move fast, straight forward, taking a turn either left or right every now and then. Eventually, after few minutes of crawling, our skin making a squishy sound when it comes in contact with the ground, we reach the end of a tunnel. There's a hole in the tree trunk, tinnier than the one we went through from the inside, so we have to squeeze out, bending our arms and legs in weird positions.

Once we're on our feet, we start running. Miriam was right, we did come out on the other side of a tree which is similar, as much as it's not, to the front side. It's the same in construction, and the only difference is that this side is deserted. The ground is hard and dry, as if no one walked on it for ages. Big, bulging roots don't resemble anything but what they're supposed to resemble. I wonder why this side is abandoned, but I don't have time or energy to think it through.

The darkness swallows us. The only thing I can feel is the cold wind against my skin, whipping against my ears as I run. I can hear the sound of my and Damon's feet meeting the ground, thumping against it as we run. I can't see anything in this blackness that surrounds us, except a flash of watery blue eyes every few seconds - probably Damon turning his head to see am I falling behind him.

I don't know why he's keeping up with me when I know he can move a lot faster than I ever could. He should run to safety, that would be a smart thing to do, knowing a lot of people here want to kill him, not me. I'm safe, more or less. And yet, he doesn't, he keeps up with me, wasting time on checking am I close to him and I don't know why.

Or maybe I do and I just don't want to admit it to myself.

We run for a long time, straight ahead. I can't see anything, not any kind of a shelter. Instead, we're met with more darkness. My feet are throbbing, my toes numb from hitting the edges of my shoes, the soles of my feet burning. But I don't complain.

Instead I think of Miriam. I wonder how many years she spent down there exactly. I wonder how old she is now. I wonder what they're going to do to her once they realize she had helped us escape. Tears come to my eyes, partly from sadness, partly from the wind slapping my face, and I can't stop these tears from spilling out. I don't think I want to. It's a relief to finally cry. I wanted to cry since I woke up in that field, but I didn't. Maybe I should be ashamed for breaking down so easily, for letting these tears out after less than a day spent here, but I was never one to believe that tears are a sign of weakness.

I don't sob, or whimper, I just let tears fall down my face, I let the wind carry them into the darkness.

I hear a familiar sound. Wind meeting with tree branches, making that slashing sound. Damon must have heard it too, because he slows down. I slow down too, which is when I realize how tired I really am. I'm puffing and panting, breathing heavily. My lungs are burning, air feels uncomfortable to them.

"There," he says calmly. All this running didn't effect him at all. Lucky bastard. "The woods. In front of us."

I squint my eyes but the only thing I can see is darkness. "I can't see anything," I say. I can't recognize my own voice, it's so disoriented by my rough breathing.

I can see him turn his head around, watching me carefully. He parts his lips but doesn't say anything, like he's reevaluating his choice, asking himself are these words such a wise idea. So instead, he replies, "You will," when I know there's something else he wanted to say, or ask. He buries those words when he turns his head back to look straight in front of himself.

He is right. As we walk, I start noticing the outline of the woods. Trees, normal sized trees, hundreds of them squeezed close together. We follow the path until we reach the entrance to the woods, which is when he stops and I almost bump into him.

"I think we're far away enough," he says, turning his whole body around, "Do you think you can create that flame again?"

I frown, wondering can he see that as well. "Do you really think that's a wise idea?" I ask doubtfully. We have no idea what's hiding in that woods. We're safer in the dark, where no one and nothing can see us.

He keeps quiet for a while, when he finally answers - "No. But I think it might be more dangerous in the dark. If there's something in the woods, they know it well enough to find us in the dark," he explains, and for a moment I think he can read my thoughts, "Seeing what's ahead of us can only serve as an advantage."

He makes a fair point so I agree to summon the flame to my palm. This time, knowing I have my powers, I do it with no trouble at all. I do it fast and with a minimum level of concentration and energy.

Once the flame lights up our faces, and our surroundings, he looks me straight in the eyes. He keeps looking at me, inspecting my features, as if he wants to make sure that I'm fine. Like we spent too much time in the dark and he wants to make sure that everything is the same.

His eyes go wider, his pupils dilating so much that it almost covers every shade of blue, which is how I know that he had noticed a trail of tears on my face. He doesn't say anything - instead, he takes his look away from my face, turning his whole body away from me.

"Let's go," he says, uncomfortably. I can see his fingers twitching before he closes them into a fist, "We shouldn't lose time."

He starts walking and I follow him.

I try to keep my distance as I walk behind him, a flame in my palm throwing light all over his back. I hate this silence because my mind gets to speak up.

"How come you decided to trust Miriam?" I ask suddenly, out of the blue, simply because I can't stand to keep quiet anymore.

He doesn't turn around as he hisses confused, "What?"

I roll my eyes at this obvious path our conversation is going to take. "You're not actually the most trusting person I know, Damon," I say honestly, not with judgment, but more like I'm stating a well known fact, "So how come you decided to take her word seriously?"

Now when I think about it, I am interested in what he has to say.

I can see his shoulders pop up and down from behind - "Didn't have much choice there, did I?"

True. Neither of us did. She was the risk we were willing to take. But I think that, somehow, that's not it. I know Damon. He would rather die on his own terms than take a chance and die under someones else, just because he was too naive to smell the truth.

"I think I've read somewhere," he continues without me enticing him, "That fairies can't lie. They live by the honesty codex or something," he shrugs.

I knew it. I knew there was something more to it. I know him well and that scares me.

"I still can't believe they exiled a child," I huff, catching up with him. I feel more confident to do so now.

"She must have done something terrible," he adds in such a calm matter, like we're discussing something else entirely.

"Still," I clear my throat through a cough, "How much damage can a child do?"

He turns his head to look at me, like I've just asked the stupidest thing ever. "A lot," he says grimly, his eyes wide under the light, "Even back home. How many times have you read that a student shot a bunch of his classmates?"

I frown. I frown because he's right and I hate it when he's right. "Evil isn't born, it's made," I counter him.

But he has a comeback ready, as always. "And it can be made at any age," his voice becomes rough and grim. He doesn't like when someone pulls him by his tongue.

"Still, I don't think children should be left alone just like that," I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, because I partly agree with him and I don't want to. I don't want to share anything with Damon Salvatore, let alone a piece of my mind. I'm so obsessed with being different from him that I'm ready to stomp all over my own beliefs. I don't even know how time moves for Fairy people. Maybe they have a completely different grasp on stages of life than humans do. The Queen, Letitia, harbors so much hate and anger, there's no doubt that she's capable of doing something extremely evil.

But what if she hasn't done anything extremely evil? What if she made one stupid little mistake, but was exiled because of some petty rules and that's what made her into who she is today?

"I never quite got that logic," he shrugs my words off like they're grains of dust on his leather jacket, "If a younger person does an evil deed, they're to be redeemed, because they didn't know what they were doing. If someone older does it, you're ready to lock them in a cell for the whole eternity, because they should have known better. It's like you measure the importance of a human life by how many more years they have left," he spits out disgustedly and when he says it like that I realize that it is the truth, "Evil deed is evil, doesn't matter who does it, how or when."

I guess I'd rather be damned than agree with him, so I say, "Whatever Damon, you're an expert in evil deeds."

I can see him flinch in the shadow, but he doesn't say anything.

It seems like I'm disagreeing with him just to get a reaction out of him, which is something I'm failing to do. Why doesn't he lash out at me? Why doesn't he treat me like he would treat anyone else?

I watch him from the corner of my eye, his face perfectly still, even though the lines on his face are hard and alert for any danger that might come.

I wish Miriam was here, so she could tell me exactly what he's feeling. Which ignites another question in me.

"How did Miriam know what we're feeling?" I ask him.

His face hardens at that question, at the last word, like someone knowing what he actually feels is the most disastrous thing that could ever happen. Then, his face goes back to normal as he opens his mouth to answer me - "She didn't. Not exactly. She couldn't determine the feeling by its name, but she could have smelled them on us."

I scrunch my face up. "Smelled?" I ask doubtfully.

"Yes," he nods to emphasize his confirmation, "Feelings reek. Animals can smell them as well. Fairies are the one with nature, they can feel the whole circle of life or whatever."

I take this in like I would take any other information, storing it somewhere in my mind in case I need to use it later.

"I still think that we should do something for her," I insist, thinking of Miriam again, back in that dungeon. I wonder did all of the energy seep away from her body now that there's not any light left there at all.

I wonder how she feels about her people not coming to get her. Is that why she said she had time to reflect on many things she was raised to believe were true, but turned out differently? Has she been told that Fairy people always come back for their own?

Why haven't they come for her?

I can feel anger cracking through the armor that is my skin.

"We are," Damon answers, "We're trying to stay alive."

I frown at the nonsense that are his words. "We're staying alive for ourselves, not her," I spit the next words out, "Are you really so heartless?" I ask in wonder.

He stops walking. Something goes through me as I almost bump into him, some unidentified feeling close to fear. I can see his teeth sink into his lower lip as he turns to me, his expression as calm as always. Like showing emotions is too much of a bother to him.

Come to think about it, he looks exhausted. Tired. More tired than he should, more tired than me.

"Bonnie," he says my name carefully, like he's about to lecture me, "She made her choice. She was trapped there and - "

"She IS trapped there," I correct him, saying these words through my teeth.

He sighs, like I'm child he needs to give whatever I want so I don't throw myself on the ground and cry, "She is trapped there," he corrects himself, "But we weren't. We were free to leave. And I am grateful for that. I am grateful that she gave me a chance to bring you to safety. And I'm not going to waste that chance on a lost cause."

My eyes go wide. I was ready to say many things to his answer. I still am. Things like _I don't need your protection_ or _why do you think I can't bring myself to safety?_

But I don't. I don't say anything. I don't have any strength or will to do so. Because the sentence - _I am grateful that she gave me a chance to bring you to safety_ - keeps buzzing inside of my head.

He turns back around and starts walking, which is when I swallow hard.

We walk in silence for a long time, in a straight line, surrounded by nothing but a line of trees on both our sides. The only sound I can hear is the wind playing with tree branches, making music while caressing the leaves.

And then, just like Miriam said that we would, we come to a crossroad. The single path we're walking on starts separating into two different paths - one going right, to somewhere unknown, and the other one going left to where the Fairy people live.

I try to conjure the name of their land, I know Miriam had mentioned it, but at this point I can't remember.

We come to a halt, standing on one last spot where two paths meet, until each of them takes a different direction. I wonder why he doesn't move, why he doesn't just go right and get this over with.

It's like he's waiting for something that's not going to happen.

So I step around him, crouching before the path leading left. I put my hand on the ground, like I'm supposed to feel something.

I guess I'm waiting for something that's not going to happen, looking for something that's not there, as well.

"I can't follow you there," he tells me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I know that he can't. They would kill him on the spot. They would smell that he's a vampire and rip out his unbeating heart.

I don't know why, but that thought unsettles me. The thought of Damon being dead, the thought of Damon dying in front of my eyes. And it's not just about him leaving me here alone, it's about him leaving me permanently. That thought disturbs me so much that it makes my skin shiver.

I know that he would never follow me. He's too selfish.. or maybe not. I don't know if trying to preserve your own life, trying to avoid sure death, can be described as selfishness.

I wonder would he really let me go, would he really agree on us taking separate paths, just because he knows this is something I have to do. Maybe that's the question that would reveal his selfishness, or the complete opposite of it.

I stand up. "I know," I say.

I remember Miriam. I remember how her eyes glimmered, those big, golden eyes - like a sun - as she talked about her home, and her family. I owe her this, I owe her to at least try to save her.

But, would I really be saving her? Apparently, her people know where she is. They know where she's been this whole time and they didn't come to rescue her. Would she be able to go back to her old life knowing that?

She said we would never get to them in time. Maybe they wouldn't even trust us. Maybe they would kill us both on spot.

But there's that _what if_ hanging in the air. Hanging above my head like a weight that could crush me with one single drop.

We're all alone, in some new land, some completely other dimension and we have no idea what we'll find here. We're stronger together, even if there are many who want Damon dead. All I know there are many who want me dead as well. Maybe someone here doesn't like witches.

I have to choose between doing the right thing, the noble thing, something someone else could benefit from and sticking with Damon. Choosing possible safety.

"I know," I say one more time, squeezing my eyes shut because there's a whole pond of tears in them.

I am grateful to Miriam, but this is no time to be selfless. This is no time for taking chances.

This feels like stabbing myself in the heart with my own sword. I'm Bonnie, I always do right by others, even if it cripples me on the way. This new feeling of selfishness and self preservation, of not wanting to be left alone, confuses me. It rips me from the inside.

And yet, I step away from the left path and start walking down the right path, hurrying down it so he can't see all the tears in my eyes.

"Come on," I call after him.

I choose Damon.

* * *

"Can you hear that?" I ask irritated because I keep hearing sounds I can't identify.

We've been walking down this road for hours. There's nothing here except trees, trees and more trees. I'm tired, I can barely walk, that's how much my feet hurt. I'm fighting to keep my eyes open. My mouth are dry and my stomach is rumbling, begging for food. I can't remember the last time I ate something.

"Yes," Damon sounds equally annoyed, "Distinctively. I just don't know what it is."

I keep hearing whispers. One moment they're on my left, the next they're on my right, then they're far away, until they're so close that I have a feeling someone is whispering into my ear. Branches are squeaking like someone is jumping on them, from one to another, it's a sound different from the sound wind makes when it attacks the branches.

All of a sudden something comes out flying from out of the trees. It flies straight towards Damon, lunging into his arm.

"What the - " he starts, reaching for whatever had hit him, when something comes flying my way as well, towards my leg.

It sticks into the skin of my knee, in the place my jeans got ripped. I bend down to reach for whatever it is. I can barely feel it with my fingers, it's little larger than a torn and I have to be extra careful not to push it forward, deeper into my flesh.

"It's an arrow," I can hear Damon saying, his voice colored by surprise.

I pull the small stick out of my skin and bring it closer to my face to examine it.

He's right, it's an arrow, a really tiny arrow. Who makes, and uses, arrows so tiny?

They don't even hurt.

We explore them in surprise when my head starts spinning. My eyesight gets blurry. I feel like someone is spinning me in circles, my surroundings are moving too fast, causing me a headache.

"Damon," I say his name gently when I feel that my knees are going to give up on me.

"Bonnie," he starts walking towards me, "Are you okay?"

I don't reply. I can't reply. I'm starting to lose my balance, the ground underneath my feet.

I can hear him yell my name one more time before I lose consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

I can feel my mind waking up. I'm slowly drifting back to reality and even before I open my eyes I can feel a slight headache coming up. The left side of my forehead is pulsating in pain - it feels like something is trying to claw its way out. I think I can feel a small lump there, growing on my skin. I must have hit my head pretty hard when I collapsed, after losing consciousness.

I guess I should open my eyes now, to see where I am, because I can't hear any sounds in my surroundings.

I force myself to open my eyes, just a little, just enough to squint through to see where I am. There's a fire crackling in front of me, illuminating my face. It seems so unreal, so perfect, like one of those beach bonfires you can only see in a painting. When I look more closely, I can notice movement in the far away background, like tiny shadows shuffling around. They're fast, almost unnoticeable, if you don't concentrate directly on them. I can hear whispers, the same ones I've heard before passing out.

I'm definitely still in the woods, there are trees all around, but it seems that whoever shot me moved me to some kind of a clearing. Wide, empty circle, nothing but hard, light colored ground and fresh grass on it. I look to my right, but there's nothing there, except the darkness and eerie silence of the woods. It's only now that I notice that I'm sitting, or better say leaning, against a tree. I try to move my hands but when I pull, something sharp and tight cuts into my skin. My hands are tied.

I whip my head around in the other direction, to my left, and a sudden jolt of pain slashes through my skull. I almost scream, but I swallow those agonizing choking sounds in order not to reveal myself to whoever might be there. So I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth until the pain goes away.

I takes me several minutes to recuperate. I open my eyes slowly to explore the surroundings on my left. I let out a silent gasp. Damon is sitting next to a tree not so far away from me. His body is tied to the tree trunk with some kind of a vine - it resembles a thick, strong rope. It looks almost alive. I notice blood around his wrists and on his neck, but I can't see him bleeding. He either stopped bleeding, or the blood isn't even his. I don't know which one I'd prefer more - maybe the first one, because the later one includes him hurting someone else and probably getting us into the world of trouble. There's a bored, exhausted look on his face as he stares into the distance.

"Damon," I hiss his name through my teeth, very silently so no one else can hear me but him. But he doesn't even budge at the sound of my voice. I knit my eyebrows closer together, confused. He should be able to hear me with his super vampire hearing. I don't have time to think about it, so this time I say his name a little bit louder.

And this time around, he hears me. He slowly turns his gaze to me, in surprise, watching me carefully, like he's trying to convince himself that I'm real.

"Bonnie?" he says my name with too much surprise in his voice, "You're awake."

I scrutinize him, "What's going on?" I ask, still unable to see the shadows in the distance clearly.

He huffs, "I have no idea what the hell they are," he jerks his head forward, towards the shadows, "They're tiny. They can fit in the palm of your hand," he says, which confuses me to great lengths, because if they're so small, how did we end up like this? As if he can read my mind, he answers that question. "But they're strong, and smart, and incredibly fast. I think they can work magic as well," he frowns, like he's trying to remember something that keeps escaping him. His eyes light up, like he came to some kind of a conclusion, so he whispers, "Maybe they're Smurfs."

I look at him wide eyed. Did he go crazy? Can vampires go crazy?

"How did we get here?" I look around us. For the first time I look up, towards the sky, only to notice it's completely black. There are no stars, or weird thunderbolts, no nothing. But it doesn't look as unnatural as it did when we first arrived, like someone painted it black. The sky seems to be black because it's nighttime, no other reason.

"I walked," he says, jolting me out of my thoughts, "I carried you. Whatever was in those arrows that made you pass out didn't work on me," he states, an expression of boredom climbing up his features again.

I furrow my brows, "Why would you do that?" I'm evidently confused, "Take us here? Why didn't you run?" he could outrun them, I'm sure. He has all that super vampire speed inside of him.

He looks at me as if I'm crazy for asking that, so he answers simply, "Because they told me."

I try to keep a serious expression on my face, even though I'm on a brink of laughter as I ask the next question, "Let me get this straight," I bite down my lower lip, "You took us here because the tiny people told you so?"

He changes his settings into an all panic mode, "They're dangerous, Bonnie," he hisses at my silently, his eyes going wide - with fear? I look at him carefully, confused as hell. Why is he changing his mood so often, so fast? What is going on here?

"We aren't that dangerous," I hear a squeaky voice in front of me.

But when I look straight forward, I don't see anything, or anyone.

Someone coughs, "Down here."

I look down at the ground and almost gasp at the sight in front of me.

Damon was right, they're tiny, and they strangely resemble troll dolls I used to play with when I was a kid - small creatures with enormous hands and feet, and eyes too big for their head. The only difference is that they're green, light green, like freshly mowed grass. I wonder does every skin coating these creatures come in such strange colors.

And there are so many of them, the whole army of them, thousands and thousands of little, yellow haired heads bobbing throughout the circle we found ourselves in.

One of them, the one who spoke the first time, I assume, steps away from the crowd. He's dressed in a leather vest and ripped, beige pants that look more like a rag than a piece of clothing. There's a bag filled with arrows hanging over his back, while he's clutching a bow in his hand.

His eyes are black, hollow and they storm when he speaks, "I am Tolstoy, the leader of Awitins," as he says those words, the crowd cheers, making strange, monkey-like sounds. When they calm down, he continues, "I demand to know who you are." He doesn't speak English either, like no one else around here does, but some other language I do not recognize, language my mind translates to English as soon as the word touches my ear.

He sounds like a mouse when he speak, his voice is so silent and squeaky, like he's talking with two cotton balls stuck on the inside of his cheeks. In appearance he's tiny as well, but the way he looks at me, the way he holds himself, like he's bigger than any mountain, makes me shudder.

Makes me fear him.

I don't answer his question. Instead, I stutter out another question, "W-what do you want from us'"

He growls, and it's so laughable, he sounds like a young wolf learning how to howl, but the sound he makes seems to make others respect him for it. "I want to know what you're doing in our woods," he says, and once again, his words are followed by the cheers from the crowd.

_Wooh, wooh, wooh_, is the sound they make, with their fists high up in the sky.

I don't know what to think of this, the scene in front of me is as funny as much as it's intimidating, and I don't know the reason behind it.

"We come from a far away land," Damon says in a sing song voice. I look at him, an expression of horror on my face, "But I'm pretty sure we're not butterflies."

_What?_

"Shut up, vampire," the tiny creature growls again.

"Are you fairies?" I ask, and just as I utter that question, I hear a collective sound of shock coming from the crowd.

The creature makes Few steps forward, pointing his finger towards me angrily, "I just tell you I'm a leader of Awitins, and you ask us if we're fairies?" he yells, "I should make you plead for your life before the Elders just for that assumption!"

"Tolstoy!" I hear a warning female voice coming from the crowd.

Tolstoy buries himself in place at the sound of the voice, slowly turning around towards the crowd as they part that, whoever made their presence known, can pass towards their leader.

A tiny creature, as they all are, with yellow hair to her shoulders, dressed in A white dress that resembles a rag, just like Tolstoy's pants, steps out of the crowd. Her bare feet are enormous - all of them seem to have big feet, as well as hands, as far as I can see - but she moves so lightly and silently, as if she's not touching the ground at all.

Her skin is as green as his, but her eyes are not like two black holes in her skull, but like light blue orbs.

When she comes closer I notice something really strange. She's glowing. There's a thick coat of yellow fog around her skin.

She doesn't say anything to her male equivalent, she just stares at him significantly until he bows his head down in defeat.

"Now," she shifts her attention to me, "What my brother meant to say, before he displaced his manners, is to please not offend us by comparing us to the Fairy people, since we come as their opposite," she smiles, or at least I think that's what that face grimace is, "They're a traditional tribe, held back by their silly little rules and rituals and unfair laws," my mind goes straight to Miriam and I can feel anger rising in me as this creature talks this way about people she belongs to, "We're wild, free, more open minded," her voice is as squeaky as her brothers, but it's not as intimidating. It's sweet, with a tampering edge. Listening to her, I have a feeling she would be able to convince me to believe almost anything.

"I apologize for my mistake," I say, swallowing down my frustration, "We come from Earth - "

I start, but am interrupted in the middle of a sentence by the crowd saying simultaneously, like they rehearsed it, "Oooh," they swoon, "Earth people," they sound like a choir, their voices so alike, creating a perfect melody.

"Hello, children of Earth," the female creature says gently, "I'm Simility, the main healer, sister of Tolstoy, leader of tribe Awitin," she introduces herself.

I don't quite know what to say to that, so I introduce myself simply, like we do on Earth, "I'm Bonnie."

There's another chorus of _ooohs_ and _aaaahs_ coming from the crowd. In any other situation I would probably think these creatures are adorable. Like those aliens from Toy Story.

"That's right!" Damon exclaims all of a sudden, "Earth! We have to go back. There are people waiting for us. Stefan and Elena and - " he comes to a halt then, switching from panic mode to calm and dreamy, "Elena," he says her name again, as easy as one would say any other word that's a part of their daily routine, "I love her very much."

I don't know why, but my stomach turns into a knot, making me sick. My mind flies to that time in his car, when we were driving to see Wanda, and I remember the way he had looked at me. I try to find words to describe it until I realize I have made all of them go away, because they scare me when they come in a sentence that associates the with Damon. I ask myself - _was all of that a lie?_

I shouldn't be asking myself that question. I shouldn't care at all.

But then he frowns, "That's not quite right, is it?" he asks himself, shaking his head rapidly, "I used to love Elena. Not anymore. There's someone else now. But I can't remember," he cries out, "Don't say it out loud, the voice is telling me, because once you do, it will become true," he rambles.

"Umm," I look from him, to Simility, "What have you done to my friend?" I ask, more curious than worried, or anything else.

"The arrow that hit you," her voice is calm, sweet, perfect for a lullaby, "We immersed its tip into a potion of our own making. It's supposed to put you to sleep. And it did. It had put you to sleep," she glances over to Damon, "But he's a vampire. His body works differently from the one of a living thing, so on him, our potion had a different effect."

I look over at Damon who's calm again, staring into the woods. So they've basically drugged him.

"We laced the rope with vervain for a good measure. We thought he would put on a fight," she continues.

Well, that would explain the blood on his wrists and neck.

I don't say anything to that, though.

"He should be okay soon. The effects should wear off any minute now. We didn't know what he is. We saw him with you and just assumed he was human," she says apologetically.

I don't know why. I doubt they wouldn't do the same thing even if they knew what he is. But at least they didn't kill him on spot, which means they must be either supporters our neutral on the whole vampire thing.

"But then, you're not exactly human either," she says. This catches my attention, so I turn my look back to her. This seems to please her. "You have power. I can sense it on you."

"I'm a witch," I admit.

"Ooooh," a crowd makes their presence known again, "A witch," they say with admiration. I wonder how they know when to say something and when to keep their mouths shut. Is there a rule? Or is it a feeling? Is there a leader who starts speaking and the others just follow? How do they know what to say, then? Can they communicate telepathically?

"I don't mean to offend, but, who are you exactly?" I choose to say who instead of what.

"The tribe of Awitin," Simility repeats, "Protectors of the woods and everything that resides in it."

Ah, that would explain their speed and agility, as well as the silence and care with which they move. Their size as well - it's hard to notice something to small, especially when it moves so fast.

"Can you wield magic as well?" my curiosity grows.

"Yes," she nods, "Some of us more than the others. It's not a magic similar to yours, though. You use magic similar to Fairy people, you use your energy. We draw our magic from the earth," then, before I get a chance to ask another question, she changes the topic, "You're hurt."

It's not a question, but a statement.

The pain is almost gone, so I forgot about the bump growing on the left side of my forehead. "Yeah," I say, looking up, trying to see it, "I think I've hit my head too hard when I passed out."

"Manggagamots!" she yells. For a second, nothing happens, but then three females shuffle out of the crowd. They resemble Simility, and they too have a thick yellow fog all around them. _It looks familiar_, I think. "Fix her," Simility orders them once they reach her.

The creatures turn to me, scrutinizing me, and once they find my wound, they start climbing on me. I suppress a laugh. It tickles. They climb to my forehead and I can't see what they're doing, but the pain disappears completely and, after some time, so does the feeling that there's a lump on my forehead.

The creatures climb down, bow to Simility, who thanks them, and they disappear back into the crowd.

"My head.." I say, a little bit dazed.

"Our men are leaders and hunters, our women healers and negotiators," she says and, in that moment, the yellow fog around her sparkles brightly.

Which is when I remember where I've seen that light before. "She has your people trapped as well," I whisper.

"Excuse me?" Simility says politely.

"The Queen," I try to remember her name, "Letitia!" I exclaim once I do. A whisper of horror goes through the crowd, "She has some of your people trapped. She keeps them in these tiny cages." I thought they're fireflies, but they're not. They're healers.

"How do you know this?" Tolstoy steps forward, his voice urgent.

"We've been there. We escaped," I try to reason with him.

"Tolstoy," Simility says calmly, "Calm down, my brother. We already know she has our people."

"You do?" I say in disbelief, my brows furrowing, "So why aren't you doing anything about it?"

Simility looks at me angrily, but doesn't say a thing. Tolstoy does, though. "Don't you think we want to?" he shrieks, "We can't. There's a protection shield all around that tree."

Protection shield.

"Nothing goes in and nothing goes out unless Letitia wants it to."

Is that why Fairy people never came for Miriam? Because they can't? Because there's something stopping them from getting in? But Letitia was one of them! Any kind of magic she wields, they wield too. Which must mean that every spell she puts, they can tear down.

"How did you escape?" Simility asks wearily, "No one ever does."

Silence falls all around us.

"She threw us into a dungeon," I explain, "We met a fairy there. She was drained of energy, because Letitia kept her in the dark. I created a flame to help her, but she ended up helping us," I swallow at the memory, "She showed us a way out, but she said she can't follow."

"Because of the shield," Tolstoy says grimly.

Now it all makes sense.

Everyone fall silent. I look at their faces, they're all looking down. They're grieving their people. I feel like I'm intruding on a very private moment.

"We came here by accident," Damon doesn't feel that way, apparently, "Can you help us find our way back?"

Simility turns to her brother and whispers something in his ear. He exhales, squeezing his eyes shut, but nods.

"Untie them!" he orders. In that moment a pile of creatures start walking towards us and before we know it, they're cutting our ropes.

"We will release you," he says, "But we don't know how to help you. People who come here, stay here. But those people are enslaved. You're free. Maybe you manage to find your way back. But we don't know of one."

I want to get to my feet, but then I probably wouldn't hear them all the way down from the ground, so I stay sitting, even though I'm free now. I start rubbing my wrists with my fingers, soothing them. They're not bruised, but they are sore.

"Just keep walking," Simility says, "You should get out of the woods in no time."

"What's on the other side?" Damon asks somberly, there's a certain amount of roughness in his voice, which is how I know he's back.

"We don't know," Tolstoy frowns at him, "We never leave the woods."

"There's a prophet living on the edge of the woods, though," Simility adds, trying to be helpful, "Maybe he can help you. He probably already knows that you're coming."


	6. Chapter 6

On our way out of the woods, the dawn comes. The thick mass of the night hovering above us starts dissipating little by little, making room for the lighter, warmer coloring above our heads. Even though the sky looks quite natural now, there are even few snowy white clouds there, there's still something off about it. Something that makes it look more like a decoration, like it's hiding something more useful, like ones of those bookshelves behind which there's a secret passageway.

I shake my head of such thoughts - this is no time to be thinking about something as irrelevant as how the sky looks like.

I turn my head to my left to look at Damon. He looks like he's not present in his own body, like his mind, his spirit wandered off somewhere else. Maybe he still feels dizzy from the potion that coated the arrow which had hit both of us, even though he, by the end of our stay with the creatures who had captured us, seemed somber enough. He's walking incredibly slow, from time to time he even stumbles, or starts going too much to the right, like the path is bending in front of his eyes, and I have to pull him back before he runs into a tree. He doesn't say anything - I don't think he even notices it.

I don't know what's happening to him. Even if I asked, I doubt he would answer me. It makes me worry, and worrying about Damon is new to me. Especially when it grows so large that, like acid, it burns a hole in the pit of my stomach, making my eyes water.

I can't get his words out of my head. _Elena, I love her very much_. That had hurt more than it should have. It shouldn't hurt at all. There should have been no sparks of jealousy or envy in me, especially not when it comes to Damon, and my best friend.

But still, out of some reason, that sentence was a huge slap in the face.

I didn't have much time to think about whatever went down between Damon and me while I didn't have my memories but now, in this silence, on this long path towards the promised safety, that's the only thing on my mind.

I can't believe I was so foolish to think the memory of his evil deeds won't effect our relationship at all. I can't believe I have even allowed myself to form a relationship with the person I hate so intensively, and the person who hates me as much.

As I say those words to myself, out loud in my head, I realize how fake they are. I don't hate Damon. Maybe I did once, but not anymore. And I don't believe he hates me either.

When I used to look at him before, I would see all the bad things he had done. Things I've witnessed, things I've been told about - my imagination was reeling. I would hear every word he had ever said to me, most of them some kind of a threat. I still hear them. I still see that crazed look in his eyes before he goes for my throat, or someone else's.

But now, I also see something else. That half smile he does when he thinks nobody is looking, when he thinks he's done good and wants to reward himself. That half smile is so much more beautiful and effective than a smirk he forces on his face regularly out of god knows what reason. I see the mellow look in his eyes, complete and utter sadness, earth shattering, heartbreaking sadness when all of his walls are down.

Now, I see Damon Salvatore when he's not pretending to be someone, or something, else.

I can see both sides of him, both sides of the coin and I'm afraid, because you never know on which side the coin is going to fall. I don't know is he going to betray me and leave me for dead tomorrow, or never leave my side. Because it could be both - I've seen both.

There is definitely something wrong with him now, though. Usually, he would be able to tell that I'm staring at him. And he would be annoyed by that. But he's just walking, his head bowed down, his hair falling all around, framing his face, hiding his eyes from me. His movements are mechanical.

I take my look off of him and look straight ahead of us. We're coming to the end of the woods - I can see it, the exit. Soon and we will be out. With that, I wonder if maybe we're safer here.

After just few more steps, I can see it, at the edge of the woods, near the very last tree, just where Simility said it would be. A house.

It looks like an ordinary cabin. It reminds me of Elena's lake house, just smaller. A lot smaller, but still, it's weird to see something so ordinary out here.

"Damon," I say his name loudly so I can be sure that he had heard me. He comes to a halt, standing beside me, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't even lift his head up at the sound of his own name. "I think we're here," I say, glancing worriedly in his direction.

I start walking, so he follows me.

There's a chimney on the top of the house, and it's spitting out smoke. There are two windows on the front, very small, as small as a hand, just enough to see through them. I notice that the right side of the house is coated by moss.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door. It takes only few seconds for them to fly open, a sweet smell coming from the inside, filling my nostrils and making my stomach rumble.

There's an old man standing before me, hunching a little while leaning on his cane. His skin is dark and there are too many old spots on it, especially on his head. He's completely bald, but there's a large, white beard stretching all the way to his chest. His strangely beige colored lips seem to be sucking inwards, wrinkles on the area all around them, and his eyes are icy blue.

He's wearing a royal purple house dress and slippers. He reminds me of an old man who lives down the street where I live, which makes this whole situation that much weirder. Because it's normal. I didn't expect to find anything remotely normal here.

"Hello," I say, looking down at him. He looks angry, and tired, maybe even a little bit bitter. There's no sign of a smile on his face. "I'm Bonnie, and - "

I start speaking but he interrupts me, his voice ragged and hoarse, like he's been smoking too much. "Yes, yes," the skin of his face starts bouncing as he speaks, "I know who you are. Come in," he moves from the door and starts walking slowly, dragging one foot behind the other, down the unlit hallway. I push Damon inside and he stumbles behind the man, before I follow him inside and close the door behind me.

The hallway is so narrow that the walls almost touch my shoulders as I move through it. Everything smells like wood here, wood and cookies and tea. It doesn't smell like sickness and death, like homes of old people often do.

We come into a kitchen, or at least into a room that resembles a kitchen. It's made out of wood, like the rest of the house, I assume. The room is small, it looks cramped even though there's not much stuff in here. There's an old stove, a sink, a tiny fridge and few kitchen cabinets. In the middle of the room there's a small, round table with four chairs around it, and an unlit oil lamp in the middle of it.

I direct Damon towards the chair and he slumps into it tiredly, his arms hanging by the side of his body like he's a rag doll and not a person.

"Your friend doesn't look so good," the old man makes an observation, taking something out of the fridge.

_Milk._

He has milk. In a cardboard box.

I take a chair next to Damon. "Yeah. What's wrong with him?" I watch Damon trying to lift his head up.

"I don't know," the man grunts, taking out glasses and cups out of the cabinet.

I wonder where he's getting all these things from. I really doubt that there's a store nearby.

"I'm a prophet, not a mind reader."

"I'm fine," Damon snaps. The sound of his voice surprises me. I haven't heard him speak since we left the creatures. His voice doesn't even sound like it's his own, though.

"Would you like tea or milk with your cookies?" the man turns to me, his yes boring into me, making me shudder.

"Excuse me?" I'm struck by the reality, normalcy of that question. It's unbelievable how normal things can throw me off now, like they're not part of my life anymore. Maybe because I don't expect them to be, at least not for a while.

"Milk," the man points at the box with his finger, "Or tea?" he moves the same finger, pointing towards the stove where there's a pot with steam rising out of it.

"Umm," I realize how idiotic I must seem to him, with a dumbfounded expression on my face. "Milk," I say by instinct.

He takes a cardboard box of milk and starts pouring it in the glass. He looks old, he walks slowly, but it doesn't seem that work is a problem for him. It doesn't tire him. His hands move as lightly as mine.

"Rupert is the name," he says, placing a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in front of me. He looks towards Damon who looks like he's on his death bed. Rupert stares at him wearily, clanking his lips together, sucking in his cheeks, like he's thinking about asking him something, but decides not to.

I look down at the cookies. I wonder what kind they are.

My stomach announces its presence. I feel like it's been days since the last time I ate.

I look at Rupert who's now looking at me, watching for my next move. His eyes look like they can see beyond the surface. I guess they can - he is a prophet, after all.

Ah, screw it. I take a cookie from the plate greedily and smash it whole into my mouth. Rice crispy. Usually not my favorite, but I'm in no position to complain.

"Well," Rupert cocks his eyebrow at me, clearly amused, "Now that you know I'm not going to poison you, let's get on with it."

I almost choke on the cookies. It must have seemed like that, didn't it? Like I don't trust him.

_Well, you don't_, I say to myself, _you don't trust anyone but yourself. Not really._

"You seem - "

"Human?" he interrupts me once again.

I knit my brows closer together, mashing them into an unibrow, "I thought you're a prophet, not a mind reader," I challenge him.

He grins at me. With that grin and those blue eyes, he reminds me of Damon. Just older, and smaller, and saggier. With more wrinkles. This is how Damon will never look like. "Sometimes, you don't have to read minds to know what people are going to say," he retorts, "Anyway, I look human because I am human."

He stops, waiting for my response. I wonder does he know how our conversation will go. Does he have a transcript of all the things I'm going to ask him? Does he know what he has to say, or is that his own free will? Does that give him a chance to alter the future?

"But you're free," I state.

"Yes, I am."

I grimace in confusion. "I thought all human males are turned into slaves," I say what's been said to me on several occasions since we got here.

He looks amused, "And I thought all human females get eaten."

"I'm a witch," I feel free to say that since he probably already knows it.

He leans onto the back of his chair, but he's unable to straighten himself up because of his hunch. "And I'm a prophet," he answers.

"You're boring me to death," Damon groans silently. Of course he would manage enough strength to insult us. "You're a terrible negotiator, witchy."

Rupert eyes him wearily, it looks like he's looking through him instead at him, before saying, "They wanted to kill me. I scared them. They couldn't find the source of my power and I couldn't possibly explain to them that what I have isn't power. They don't believe in our God or any other kind of a god there is. They believe in nature and its forces, good or bad, and they believe in themselves. To them, I'm more of a monstrosity than your vampire friend over here," he's still looking at Damon with curiosity, "At least they understand his species."

"So how come they didn't kill you then?" I take another cookie and sink it in a gulp of milk.

"They realized they can use me. I can, after all, see into the future," he shifts his attention from Damon to me. My mouth is full, cookie crumbs all around my lips. I'm ashamed, but can't do anything about it except continue chewing. "So they let me live as long as I keep out of their way and as long as I give them valuable information."

I desperately want to ask him where he's getting all his things, mainly food, from, but there are way more important matters to discuss. I'm sure I'm going to regret thinking that the next time I'm hungry.

"How old are you?" I ask. In any other situation this question would be so inappropriate, but not now.

"A century. Two. Three. Maybe older," he shrugs, "Who knows. I've lost a track of time here. I just wish I haven't decided to grow old," he huffs. Damon jerks his head a little, probably surprised by his answer and curious what lies beneath it.

Just as I am. "Decided?" I ask doubtfully.

"Yes, yes," he waves me off, "I thought it might be a nice experience, that I might actually feel normal, a human, if I follow the path of evolution. Maybe I even hoped I would die when my time comes. But I'm not exactly human, am I?" he growls silently, "If I hadn't decided to grow old, if I decided to stay young, I wouldn't be stuck with this body for an eternity. I would be stuck with a younger body. I was quite handsome when I was a young man," he winks at me.

"Hold your horses, Papa Smurf," Damon warns him. I can sense protectiveness in his voice, even though he's barely getting the words out.

"You can't decide to get old, or stay young!" I say. It just happens. You have no control over it.

Rupert's eyes narrow and he spits his words out at me, like I've said the silliest things possible, "Of course you can," he says lightly, "It's your life. Your choice. Just like you've decided to eat all of my cookies, you can decide to never grow old."

He's crazy. I would blush at his remark about of cookies if he weren't so evidently crazy.

I stare at him, not knowing how to reply to this. I decide not to say anything. I didn't come here to convince an old man that he's out of his mind, I came here for answers. Even though, after this, I don't know if I can take his words seriously.

But it's not like I have any other option.

"What's outside of these woods?" I choose my first question.

He shrugs, "Beats me. I barely leave my house, and I never leave the woods."

How is this man supposed to help me? Some prophet he is.

"I do know other helpful things, though," he says, as if he can really read my mind.

"Oh?" I can feel my cheeks start to burn, ashamed by how easily I've discarded his knowledge.

"There are hundreds and hundreds of species in this dimension, and each have their own territory," he starts, "Wherever you step, you're on someones land, and you won't ever know whose it is. It would take you years of living here to map this place, years of exploring. I guess that's why everyone here are immortal," he clears his throat with a cough. He's immortal as well, but he doesn't go anywhere.

I wonder, does living here make you immortal, or is it a question of your anatomy? Do humans who stumble here die of old age?

"But there must be someone in charge, right?" Damon utters these words slowly and silently, at times even painfully, "Someone who reigns the whole dimension."

I don't think there has to be. Now one rules over the entire Earth and there are far less species to control over there.

"Yes and no," Rupert answers, "Every species has its leader, and species are ranked by power. Everyone knows who's the hunter and who's the pray. There is the most powerful one, so I guess if she wanted to, she could rule," he nods, as if he's just now thinking about this. Like it never crossed his mind before.

"Who is she?" I find myself asking.

"I've never had the pleasure of meeting the lady, but they call her Queen of Doom."

What a lovely name.

"She lives on the other edge of the dimension. She knows and sees everything - I guess that's why she never needed my services."

"But she doesn't rule the whole dimension?" I find that hard to believe, that someone would refuse power ready for plucking.

"No," he answers.

"But why?" I ask, still doubtful.

"I guess she doesn't feel a need to," his shoulders bob up before falling down slowly, "I hear that she's a loner like me. She barely leaves her castle. And she's the only one of her species."

When neither Damon or me say anything to that, he continues. "You have your fairies and elves and dwarfs. Giants and vampires and humans. Even witches," he looks at me significantly, "Even though covens are rare and they live by their own, there's more than one of them. But Queen of Doom is all alone. And I guess not even all the power she has is a solitude good enough when you have no one to share it with."

I look at Damon. I remember how he didn't run from me when we escaped Letitia. He kept up with me.

I guess Rupert is right - all the advances you have in life are for nothing if they cause you loneliness.

"But you don't really want to know about any of this," he says.

I look at him, my eyes wide on his presence, "I don't?"

He shakes his head, "You want to know how to get out of here."

My silence is all the confirmation he needs.

"You can't," he says almost instantly, pulling the band aid off fast, "There's no way. At least one that won't kill you. That I know of."

I'm so struck by his words and a light manner in which he says them, that I blurt out, "Then tell us a way that will kill us."

Damon chuckles.

"You sure?" he cocks his head to the side, "You can have a nice life here. He can be your slave. You can become very powerful."

"I don't want any of that," I hiss through my teeth, "I just want to go home."

"Home," he says dreamily, "I didn't have a say in that, because I've struck a deal with them. Once you promise them something, you're theirs. So there's another lesson for you, don't promise anything to anyone because they can hold it against you."

"Fine," I say, clearly annoyed, "No deals. Now tell me."

"Alright," he nods, "You have to find _wadudus_. Their queen can help you."

"Who are they? Where can we find them?" I insist.

"They're not dangerous. They're something like.." he searches his mind for the right word, "Cleaners. I don't know where they live, you will have to find that out on your own. Also, their queen," he sighs, "She will want a gift. As a payment for her services."

I feel like I'm selling my soul to the devil. "What kind of a gift?"

He grins again, "Don't worry, it's nothing you will miss, nothing you don't have plenty of," he says vaguely.

I would push him further to tell us more, but I also know that he's not going to.

He throws a plastic bag on the table in front of me.

I frown, "What's this for?"

"I know you're going to steal the rest of my cookies," he says bitterly, like it's something he's not happy with, but he knows it's something he can't either stop or change. Maybe he's not allowed to. "So you don't have to put them in your pockets. It's unsanitary."

I eye him wearily before taking the bag and putting cookies in it.

"Rupert," I hear Damon calling his name. When I look towards him, his head is up, his face visible - tired, but visible - which comes as a surprise to me. He's barely keeping his eyes open, "Can I talk to you about something?" he asks, looking at me, "Alone."

My eyes go wide witch shock. What does he have to talk about with a complete stranger that he doesn't want me to hear? "Damon," I say his name carefully, "I think this is no time or place for us to be keeping secrets," I warn him. We might have our differences, but here we have to work as a team.

"What he has to ask me, you wouldn't want to hear anyway," Rupert says, his eyes on Damon, stern and awake, like they were since he sat on his chair.

Does he know what Damon wants, or is he just guessing?

"I think I can decide for myself do I want to hear something or not," I answer defiantly.

"Bonnie," Damon calls my name, so I look at him. His eyes are wide, awake, the look in them pleading. "Please," he says, begging me.

I think about it for a moment, or at least I think I do. I don't know, my head feels full and empty at the same time, creating commotion. Nevertheless, I come to a conclusion. "Fine," I put the remaining cookies into the bag, yanking it off of the table, "I'll wait for you in the hallway," I spit out, stand up and walk away to the dark hallway.

Damon and Rupert stand up as well, edging to the end of the kitchen, like they want to be as far away from me as possible.

He doesn't trust me. He. Doesn't. True. Me. Me! I should be the one who doesn't trust him, with his track record.

Damon leans towards Rupert, whispering into his ear, while the old man just keeps nodding with understanding.

I'm dying to know what he's telling him. I don't know why I'm this curious about it. More importantly, I don't know why I feel so.. betrayed? Hurt? Why does he feel like he can't trust me? Why is he more comfortable with asking a stranger for advice, than me?

I'm acting childish. Rupert is a prophet. He knows this land better than I do. Of course he can help him better than me. But I still feel a bucket full of that immature, childish betrayal and pain.

Maybe it has something to do with Elena..

That thought only ignites a fire in my chest. I bite my tongue down to stop myself from screaming.

Rupert glances towards me, almost unnoticeable - I would have missed it for sure if I weren't staring at them so intensely, on purpose - then whispers something into Damon's ear.

When Damon raises his head, and looks towards me, I know that whatever Rupert said had something to do with me. His eyes flash towards me, like a laser beam, dark blue rim around his iris extending. The look he gives me is like a flash of lightning - fast, striking, meaningful on a level I have yet to understand, leaving a burning mark on my very core.

Then, he shifts his attention to Rupert, shaking his head.

Rupert gives him a sympathetic look, sucking in his cheeks, before whispering something in his ear.

Damon's look becomes hard and he nods gratefully before walking towards me.

I act like I don't care.

I don't care.

_I don't. _


	7. Chapter 7

The sun is big and bright, high up in the sky, but it doesn't burn. I can't even feel it on my skin, even though it looks as if it could melt a rock. This place is always room temperature, hot and cold never exchanging, but mashing up together and cancelling each other out. Sometimes I wonder can I feel the coldness of the wind because it's really there, or because I expect it to be there.

I don't know how time moves here. Day and night exchange is uneven intervals, so I don't know how to count the days. It doesn't matter anyway.

Damon seems too weak to talk. He's basically dragging himself behind me, looking like death more than usual. I don't know what's wrong with him, so I tell myself he's still suffering from the consequences the arrow had on him. I still worry, though, but my pride doesn't let me show that to him. I guess I'm still mad at him for keeping secrets from me, even though I have no right to that. It's not like Damon and me are best buddies or anything. It still hurts, so I'm trying to think about it the less I can.

Even if he could speak, I don't have anything to say to him, nothing but infinite _why's_ he probably wouldn't give me an answer to. So instead I spend my time thinking about home. I create these scenarios in my head where I imagine my friends and put them in situations I think they might find themselves in. Sometimes I wonder are they looking for a way to bring us home. Even if they are, it's probably futile - it will take them decades to find a way. That thought squeezes around my heart. They might have time, but we don't. I don't. Decades are all I have. I might die here.

I try to ration the rest of the cookies I took from Rupert, but I'm too hungry and greedy to do that, so I eat them almost all at once. If Damon were to his senses, he would probably yell at me about how irresponsible I am.

We walk for a long time after leaving the prophets house, at least it seems like a long time to me. It could be days, or hours. I don't really know. And like I've said already, it doesn't really matter.

I almost give up all hope - I think we've stumbled into hell, so we're walking in circles, infinitely, without even realizing it - but then we come to another crossroad. On our left, there's another forest, and we're standing right on its entrance. And on our right, far, far away from here, there's a large hill, and on it something that resembles a town.

This time, choosing which path to take is a no-brainer for me - I take a step to the right.

Just as I make that first step, I hear Damon's pained voice whispering sharply, "No. Not that way." Vampires don't need any air, they don't breathe, but when he stops talking, he makes a sound similar to inhaling deeply.

I turn to him, my face a mask of confusion. He's standing exactly where I was just a moment ago. "What? I hiss, thinking that maybe I haven't heard him right.

He tries to lift his head up, to look at me, but his head drops as soon as he tries to raise it. "We have to go into the woods," he squeezes out. It's hard for him to speak. I wonder does he feel like his lungs are on fire, that his throat is full of needles, does he feel like I feel when I have trouble speaking.

Out of some unknown reason I spend too much time trying to find similarities between us.

"Damon, I don't really think that's a good idea," I say calmly. Something's definitely wrong. Why would he want to go in there? In the place where fairies. and god knows how many more creatures who want him dead, live.

"We have to," are his final words before he staggers towards the woods. He doesn't get far, though, he stumbles on something invisible and falls down on his face.

"Damon!" I yell his name, each letter bumping against the walls of my throat before jumping into the air. I run after him, my knees colliding with the soft ground. I put my hands on his shoulders to roll him around, since he's not moving by himself. When I do, when I roll him onto his back, I have to suppress a shriek.

He's so pale. His skin is not even white - it looks translucent. If it gets one more shade lighter, if that'e even possible, he will become invisible. I'll lose him to the air and wind and all the things I can't see. There are dark purple veins, some even black, all over his face. I haven't seen them, his head was down for such a long time. His eyes are bloodshot, like a vessel popped in there, coloring the white of his eyes with tiny, red specks.

"Oh Damon," I cry out, stricken by the sight in front of me.

I'm not used to Damon being weak, or looking weak. I didn't even know that's an acceptable state for him.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, but he doesn't answer me. He just stares at me blankly, like he doesn't even understand me. For a moment I think he's not even there anymore, but then he blinks. "Tell me what's wrong? How can I help?" I tug onto his coat.

He tries to say something, but he chokes on his own words.

I almost cry, and the worst thing is that I don't know what I would cry for - for Damon, or out of fear of being left alone in this place.

"Woods," he manages to say.

Maybe lying down he had managed to regain some of his strength.

I furrow my brows. "Why?" I look towards the woods, "What's in there?"

I can't see anything but darkness. Even with the sun making every inch of the surface bright, the forest still looks dark, like there's a big, black cloud looming over it. The treetops are so bushy and lavish, they're preventing light beams from fighting their way through.

"Woods," he says again, meekly.

"We can't go into the woods!" I yell at him, quite irritated by the situation we have found ourselves in. I'm still holding onto his coat, rubbing it gently with the tips of my thumbs. "It's dangerous," I tell him.

But he shakes his head, scraping his nape against the ground. "No," he says several times, "It's different. Look," he talks like a mad man. He's definitely going crazy. I'll have to cut out a part of his brain to make him normal again. "Look!" he insists.

So I indulge him. The trees look the as same as all the other trees do. The bark on their trunks is darker, though. Rougher. Still, nothing unusual, probably a different kind of a tree. "There's nothing there, Damon," I swallow. It's true. It's too silent. There's not even that low hum the woods usually make. The more I think about it, the more it freaks me out. "Just darkness."

"Yes!" he exclaims, his eyes widening, "Black Woods. No danger. Just vampires. Supporters," he makes several one to two words sentences. If I didn't have all the information I do, I wouldn't understand the word he says.

"Vampires?" I crunch my nose, still feeling unfriendly towards the species, "Why would you want to - " I start saying when, in that moment, while looking at his face, a bulb lights up in my head. Of course. He's weak, tired, in a bad mood. Pale. I take his hand into mine and pull up the sleeve of his coat. Dark veins all over his skin, ready to pop. Ready to swallow him whole.

His eyes bloodshot. Like he's falling apart from the inside.

"You don't want the vampires. You want the supporters. You need them," I can't believe I haven't figured it out before. I was so busy with my own hunger, munching on cookies, wasting them, and he was behind me, basically starving to death. I usually don't have to think about Damon's eating habits. He has never eaten in front of me. I remember seeing Caroline and Elena drink the blood from the bags, but never Damon.

"That's what you asked Rupert, didn't you? Where to find them?" he didn't want me to hear. He didn't want me to know that he's hungry and I don't know why. I've been so selfish, and he's been so stubborn. We're such a bad combination. Maybe there's not a person in this world with whom Damon makes a good combination. He's like alcohol, he blows everything up, no matter with what he comes in contact with. He's toxic.

Rupert must have asked him why doesn't he just drink from me, to which he shook his head. _No. Not me._

The thought makes me shiver - someone drinking from me. Giving my blood willingly. Serving to someone as nothing but a food source.

I have to ask, though. I have to ask or the question is going to eat me up from the inside. I don't know why it wants to come out, but it's stealing all of my air in the process. I look up at him, his eyes stern and steady on me. "Why didn't you say anything?" I ask with a quivering voice.

As if he knew I'm going to ask that, he has an answer prepared. "Because," the corners of his lips twitch, forming something similar to a smirk, "If I did, you would offer."

He's right, I would. I wouldn't let him starve to death. And it's not like he's just anyone. He's not some random vampire I've met on the street. He's..

..he's _Damon. _

There's so much behind that name. _Damon._ The friendliest enemy anyone has ever had. A page of a book you're too afraid to turn because of what you might find there. A sheet of music. A half empty glass. So much hate and anger colliding with a wall and crumbling into little pieces which rearrange into something else. Like two colors falling into each other.

"We're here now," his voice is so gentle when he's tired, when he doesn't have enough strength to be angry at the world, "We just have to find them."

He tries to lift himself up, but falls back down almost instantly.

"No," I lay a hand on his chest, telling him to stay down, "You're too weak. We have no idea where they are, or if there's anything else besides them in the woods."

I pull my hand away from his chest and inhale deeply, filling my lungs with courage. "Here," I put my wrist near his lips.

He looks from my face to my wrist, then back at my face, before saying quietly, "No."

"No?" I frown, "Is my blood not good enough for you?" I don't know why I sound so offended as I say those words.

He doesn't say anything, because there's nothing to say. At least not without offending me. I press my wrist closer to his lips. I can see him wavering when he feels the warmness of my skin on his lips.

Maybe I'm crazy for doing this. Maybe I should go into the woods and find vampires and their sympathizers by myself, and tell them I have a vampire in need. Would they believe me? Or would they think it's a trap?

I'm also afraid. Damon already tasted my blood, when he ripped into my throat and almost killed me. I would be dead now if Stefan hadn't saved me. When I close me eyes, I see that imagine - Damon speeding towards me and sinking his fangs into my skin. Then darkness.

_Things are different now_, I have to remind myself. Our relationship is different. If he's not, the way he sees me is.

"Damon," I use a voice one would use when addressing a child, "You have to."

A moment later, he opens his mouth. His breath is warm, moist, it reminds me of steam that rises from the pot when I cook pasta. The tips of his fangs touch my skin, and my breath catches in my throat. I can feel my skin tearing.

I remember when Elena told us she's feeding Stefan her blood. I was shocked. It seemed so inappropriate to me, so taboo, so strange. She wasn't doing it to feed him, it wasn't a necessity. It wasn't about survival.

At least, back then, I didn't think it was. I didn't understand Stefan's situation well enough to realize that small portions of her blood kept him at bay. And it wasn't just about blood. It was about Elena. It was about trust.

I can feel blood pouring from two tiny slashes on my wrist into his mouth. He pulls his fangs out of my wrist and shuts his lips, savoring the taste.

"Damon," I say his name with a warning, "That can't possibly be enough," he still looks as bad as before. Those few drops did nothing for him.

"It's fine. I'm fine," he growls.

I guess those few drops had some effect after all.

"No, it's not," I don't move my wrist from just above his lips, taunting him.

His eyes light up, pleading me to understand. "I haven't fed in such a long time," he cries out, "I'm afraid I won't know where to pull a line."

I guess this is my biggest problem with Damon. He divides people in two groups - those he cares about, and those he could give a shit about. The world is black and white to him. He doesn't trust himself, so he doesn't want to drink from me out of fear he might hurt me. But he doesn't have a problem with doing that to someone else.

_It was about trust._

I don't feel the need to change Damon Salvatore. I don't want to make a better man out of him. He's not evil at his core, but he's looking at the world through smudged windows. And he's the only one who can wipe them clean.

At this point, I'm annoyed by his choice to insert me into a group of people he cares about, so I say the only thing there is to say. "It's okay," I say soothingly, "I trust you."

He looks at me in a way you look at someone when you want to see through them, not at them. He searches my face for answers, for a glint that would tell him I'm lying. Trust is a strange and new concept for Damon, especially coming from me.

I guess hunger takes over, because he sinks his fangs back into my skin, at the same place he did the first time.

This time sharper. Harder. Rougher. I can feel a sting, once, twice, three times. My wrist is becoming numb from all the pain I'm putting it through.

I watch as Damon's mouth moves, his lips pressing onto my skin. My blood is not leaving my body in drops anymore, but in heavy streams. He can't get it all in, so some of it falls down my arm, on his clothes.

I wonder will my wrist bruise.

He eats messy. Greedily. Hungrily. He's starving.

I can't feel my wrist anymore. I can see it, but it doesn't feel like it's attached to my body anymore.

I'm becoming dizzy. I'm losing too much blood. But it doesn't feel wrong - it feels like someone spiked the punch and forgot to tell me about it, so I drank three cups straight, thinking I'm drinking pure juice. It hits me right in the head and makes me want to dance.

This haziness comes too fast, before the pain even subsides. It's unnatural. Intensity is too big and intervals are too short.

It's a feeling I've never felt before, like adrenaline that's slowing you down instead of speeding you up, pushing you in the direction opposite of gravity.

When Damon pulls his fangs out of my skin, the pain comes back, and I start floating towards reality. I don't feel like flying anymore - I'm rocketing towards the ground. Wind envelops me and hurts my skin.

I look down at Damon. There's some blood on his lips, _my blood_, but he's got his color back.

"Woah," he says, his hands squeezing my shoulders. I started towering to the side, but didn't even notice. He keeps me straight.

His reflexes are back, he's fast again. Agile. Strong. I can feel his grip on me.

He's still holding me, even when I feel like I can hold myself.

And somewhere in the back of my head I can hear him saying - _thank you, Bonnie._


	8. Chapter 8

We don't talk about him feeding from me, or will it happen ever again. I wouldn't let him die, of course, but I would prefer we find some other option. I remember the feeling well - quick, dull pain when he sank his fangs into my wrist. My blood flowing in the opposite direction, from my heart, to his mouth. I remember his teeth twitching inside of me at the first taste of blood. It was rather uncomfortable, dreadful. Until it wasn't. Until my body got so hot that I thought I'm made completely out of fire. My mind was so light, empty, like a feather resting inside of my skull. It's similar to getting buzzed, just better - something I could get used to every once in a while.

But then I remember how I felt afterwards, when I got back to my senses. When I stood back up and every part of me went into its place. The feeling of being.. _used_. It overshadowed even the rewarding feeling of saving someones life.

My wrist didn't bruise, at least not like I thought it would. It didn't turn into a plum - big and squishy and purple. I kept running my fingertips over two small wounds on my wrist, unintentionally. Damon noticed, so he offered to give me his blood in order to heal. I refused, too fast, too loud, too determined. Like I'm disgusted. I shouldn't be. His ability to heal me suggests that not everything inside of him is rotten. I save him, so he saves me back.

Thinking about it made me realize getting food for me might be more complicated than getting blood for him.

"Black Woods," when silence became too loud, too awkward and uncomfortable, we decided to fill it with words. When the world stopped spinning, when I got back to my feet, we started walking to the right. We're climbing up the hill now. "That's what Rupert called them," grass is pretty high here and it's tickling my knees, "He didn't know where to find them, but he knew how. He told me the woods vampires live in are usually darker - from trees to the mood," he looks down, trying to find his feet in the grass, "Like death. Like vampires."

There are two sides to every person, but sometimes it feels like Damon is two people at once. He's like one of those Russian dolls - so many little ones hidden in the big shell. Damon is rude, and sarcastic, and often makes things uncomfortable. He has a short list of people he cares about and, if it were up to him, the rest of the population could cease to exist and he wouldn't even blink. Damon is not selfless or even good, not in a way Stefan is. That doesn't instantly make him evil, though.

But then, when he thinks no one is looking, like Janus he grows another face. Face you can't look at for too long without wanting to cry. That face is another extreme, the complete opposite of the first one. Can he see me staring? Does he even care? Maybe he's showing it to me on purpose, and maybe he doesn't even notice me looking. Maybe he thinks I wouldn't be interested in seeing him like that, so he doesn't try to hide.

Most people are grounded, centered. Some of their extremes cancel out the other extremes, which makes them constantly tick, but never explode. They're in balance. But somehow, and out of some reason, Damon had managed to split his personality in half. He either explodes, or shuts down completely.

I don't ask him about what Rupert said to him that made him look at me and shake his head. I have a pretty good guess, and I don't need a confirmation. That conversation would create a whole new path I have no interest in walking down.

It's scary how empty this place is. You can walk for hours, days even, and not see anything but narrow land. Sometimes there's a forest, and sometimes there's a hill, and then, all of a sudden, you stumble upon something. A town or, at least, what around here can pass for a town.

When we reach the top of the hill, we're met with a stony path that leads towards the city walls. I can see wooden pointy roofs poking above thick, stone walls, reminding me of silly looking houses on the covers of books for children. The wall goes in a circle and in the middle, where the walls meet, there are large wooden doors.

In front of the doors there are two guards with spears in their..

Wait..

Are those..?

"Oh God," I say horrified, leaning closer towards Damon, "Please tell me those aren't bugs."

_Please don't let them be bugs, let them be men in bug armor. _

Damon seems baffled by what he sees in front of us, "They look like bugs."

Out of all supernatural entities, why did it have to be bugs?

They're human size, standing on two tiny legs looking like sticks. There are four more legs, serving as arms, on the side of their big, brown bodies. I can't see their eyes, but I can see their tentacles, hanging from the top of their heads, like giant, floppy ears.

Each of them holds a wooden stick with a metal arrowhead in their hands.

My face goes pale as I watch them stand there, still. Why are they so still, just standing there? Why are they not attacking us? Are they planning something? They must be planning something.

"Bonnie," Damon hums my name, "After all those creatures we have seen and heard about in this dimension, your face falls ashen upon seeing bugs?" his tone is light. He's amused by this.

I look at him with a serious expression on my face. "They're bugs, Damon. And they're huge."

Not that I'm friendly with normal sized bugs.

He huffs, "Don't go all girly on me now and say that you're scared of bugs," he teases me.

"The way I feel towards bugs has nothing to do with my gender," I furrow my brows, annoyed he would even propose such a thing. Damon is a lot of things, but he doesn't put people in boxes. "And I'm not scared of them," I add, "I just prefer to keep my distance."

But I start walking anyway. I don't really have a choice.

"You're right," I hear him saying. I look up at him to see actual guilt glimmering in his eyes. Small amount of it, but still very much present. "I guess I'm used to you being strong and fearless one."

I release something between a sigh and a chuckle, "I'm not fearless," I say, "I'm scared all the time."

My answer catches him by surprise. "You never act like it," he notes.

"No," I look away from him, "Because everyone else do. And they expect differently from me."

"You're not who people expect you to be," he says with so much venom in his voice that it makes me look back at him. His face is a distorted mask of anger. "People's expectations of you is a bent picture of reality and you don't have to live up to it."

It shouldn't surprise me he has such a strong opinion on the subject, since others constantly expect something from him. To be better, to be different. I came to realize that Damon's problem is not people expecting him to change for better, it's people assuming they know what that better is.

Which is why I never expected anything from him. Not because I think he's a lost cause, but because it's not my place to expect anything from him. It's his.

"What do you do when other peoples expectations become your own?" I ask. Because that's how I often feel. Like I have to constantly prove myself.

Damon and me, we're two sides of the same coin. Where the one rises, the other one falls.

After some time of thinking, he says, "I don't know. I've never let it come that far."

When I turn my head straight in front of me, we're standing in front of the bugs. I have to suppress a scream rising in my throat.

I'm standing face to face with one of them, but it stands still. Its eyes are completely black and shiny, I can see my own reflection in them.

The two of them are completely identical. I can't tell anything about them - their gender or age. They're as tall as me, which means they're on head shorter than Damon.

I don't know what to do and by the looks of it, neither does Damon. If I spoke to them, would they understand me?

As I ponder over that, the bug moves its mandibles and a crunching, almost mechanical sound comes out of it which my brain perceives as _hello_.

I look at Damon who seems as baffled by it as much as I do. When I see I have no other choice, I greet them back. "Hello," I say almost fearfully.

"How can we be of your assistance?" it seems friendly, which is even creepier.

"We're here to see your queen," I say firmly. It's either that, or my voice scattering all over the place.

Two of the bugs exchange a look before speaking up at the same time, "Of course."

That's it? It's that easy?

They knock on the door with their spears and several seconds later the doors fall open.

"We hope you enjoy your stay in Aphidoidea," they say simultaneously.

* * *

I was right, it is a town. There are houses scattered all over the place and, between them, there are steep stony paths.

Houses are tall, made out of dark wood, with giant, pointy roofs and square front doors. They're not built properly, each and every one of them is leaning to the side, like they're ready to fall apart any minute now. Like they're made out of cards. Roofs of some houses are touching, their points crossed, like two swords preparing for a fight.

And there are bugs. Bugs everywhere. Big, brown, most likely squishy, bugs. Some are hurrying, some are taking a leisurely stroll through the town, and some are pushing wooden push chairs with eggs in them. They're chattering among each other and the sound they make makes me think we're trapped inside of a machine.

Some of them even greet us, like they don't think us being here is abnormal.

We recognize the queen's house immediately - it's in the middle of the town, towering over everything else, it even resembles a small castle. It's also the only residence made out of stone instead of wood.

"Please tell me you can see how creepy this is," we reach some place that resembles a market. There are stands everywhere, full with things - food, furniture, toys - and bugs are basically fighting to get to the stands, shouting loudly. All of it seems very satiric.

Damon shrugs. "I'm sure we seem creepy to them as well."

I frown. "But they act like seeing us here is completely normal."

"Maybe, to them, it is," he moves closer to me when we come to the center of the market. We have to hurry along if we don't want to get squished. Which is quite ironic. "They're used to our kind, but we're not used to theirs."

He's right - there are humans and vampires here as well, but there are no human sized bugs in our world. As far as we know of.

We quicken our pace after we leave the market. The streets are almost deserted at this side, everyone must be over there, bargaining for stuff.

Finally, we reach the queen's home, which looks like a small castle right out of Jane Austen novels.

This time, Damon is the first one to speak to the guards. "We have come to see your queen," his voices booms, and the bugs let us in.

* * *

"Do you think she's a bug too?" I ask him as we move through a barely lit hallway. There are no windows here and I can't see anything through the darkness. I just hope the hallway is straight so we don't bump into anything.

"The queen?" I can't see his face, but I know he's asking just for good measure. He had thought about it as well. "I don't know. Maybe. It would make sense," he concludes.

"I bet she is," I say, already imagining her in my mind, "And I bet that she's bigger than all the other bugs out there," I shiver at the thought of it.

Damon laughs under his breath. "Maybe she's their mother," he proposes.

"No!" that thought didn't really occur to me, "You think? Do you think there's a king as well?" I chuckle. King of the bugs. Suddenly _A Bug's Life_ pops into my mind. Caroline used to be so grossed out by that movie.

"No," Damon says, sounding pretty sure in what he's saying, "She probably kills the male after the mating ritual. Like a Praying Mantis."

That reminds me of something I've been pondering over, but forgot to bring up. "I've noticed that almost everyone here have a queen, but there's no king. Why do you think that is?"

He doesn't say anything for some time, so he surprises me when he says, "Women are better rulers."

I wish I could see his face at this moment. "You really think so?"

"Yes," the answer comes right away, "Men always want more power, until there's too much of it for them to handle."

He has a point. I always thought that's a typical human trait, but growing up, I've come to realize that men can never get enough. They're too greedy. Women are different. Women know how much they can take at a time, so they build their kingdoms slowly, but steadily.

"Our world has always been ruled by men. Kings, presidents, whatever else there is.. but never women," I observe. There's only a handful of queens and women presidents. And for a planet of such rich history, just a handful is too little.

He puffs. "And look where that got us."

As he says those words I bump into a hard, wooden surface. "Ouch!" I say, covering my face with the palms of my hands. Everything hurts.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly.

"Yes," I speak with my hands covering my mouth, so my voice comes out all muffled, like I have no teeth.

"I think it's a door," he says. I can hear him investigating the surface with his hands. "Here," he says after few seconds.

I can hear a click - he pushes the door open - and all of a sudden, we're bathed in strong light. I try to see through it, but I can't, its intensity hurts my eyes.

I can feel Damon shuffling beside me until he finally manages to get a hold of my hand, which sends a jolt of energy through my body. Just as I'm about to ask him what does he think he's doing, his voice echoes in my ears, "Come. This way," and he pulls me inside.

I let him lead me into the light.

As we walk, I can see the light subsiding behind my closed eyelids and at one point I feel free enough to open my eyes.

The sight in front of me is absolutely breathtaking. The room is enveloped in white light - I imagine this is what standing inside of a cloud feels like. There are trees all over, different kinds of trees, with various fruit growing on them. A palm tree. A banana tree. An apple tree. And many, many more. I want to reach for them, I want to sink my teeth into the juicy apple flesh.

I can also see rose bushes, roses of strange colors. Like purple and orange and blue. Even black. I can smell their scent - they smell funny. Not how roses usually smell like. They're stronger, I guess. They're more.. brighter, colorful, vivid fragrance. More everything.

In the middle, there's a fountain, a strong waterfall coming from the top, splashing into the surface of the water. I come closer. There are lotus leaves there with beautiful, bright pink flowers, and under the surface of the water there are bright red fish. They make the water look as if it's on fire.

And on the other side of the fountain, opposite of me, I can see a reflection.

A move to the side to see better, I go all the way around the fountain until I'm met with a person, not just the outline behind a waterfall.

A young girl, about my age, maybe even younger, with a milky white skin, as pale as Damon's was before I gave him my blood. Long, wavy, orange hair is falling down her back, all the way into the water. But the strange thing is, in the place where her hair meets the water, it doesn't look wet at all. It looks more like it's fluttering above the water, than sinking into it. There's a crown made out of flowers on the top of her head.

She's wearing a long green dress made out of satin, a dress wrapped tightly around her body, showing each depth and curve. Her head is bent down, staring at the tray in her lap, tray filled with fruit - pineapple and melon and strawberries. More than I can count. Some I can't even name.

I can see her eyelashes fluttering even with her hair bent down, her eyes going from one fruit to another, like she can't decide which one to pick.

She starts circling her finger over the fruit, like she's playing _eeny, meeny, miny, moe,_ until it finally falls on the strawberry. She picks it up from the tray and throws it in her mouth.

Then, she looks at me. Her eyes are green as new grass after the winter and her nose is tiny. Almost as tiny as a baby's. Her lips are bright pink and small, narrow and round, but plump.

"Hello," she says, not surprised at all to see me in her home. Do everyone just wander in here freely by asking to do so? Isn't that a bit too risky for a queen?

"Hello," I say back.

She puts the tray on the ground, next to the fountain, and stands up. She's tall and thin, as thin as a stick, but she's far from sickly looking. She fits in with all the trees in here. Somehow, she looks like a tree, from the inside. As crazy as that sounds.

She smiles gently. "You can tell your friend he's free to join us."

As if on cue, Damon comes to stand beside me. The girl seizes us both up at once, gentleness never leaving her face.

"You're not from around here," she states after watching us carefully.

"No," I say, "We're from another dimension," this is the first time I've said it out loud, so the reality of it strikes me. "That's why we're here. We seek your help."

"Oh!" she gasps cheerfully, her whole face lighting up. Her cheeks blush bright orange which, weirdly, suits her complexion. "Customers!" she claps the palms of her hands like a child. Before I'm able to say anything else, she asks, "How do you like my Aphids?"

Her Aphids? Does she mean her bugs?

She frowns, "You don't like them," there's a disappointed look in her eyes, "You don't! I can feel your disgust!" she yells at me.

I don't know what to say so, as a flawed human being, I say the worst possible thing there is, "They're bugs."

Her eyes go wide. "They're not bugs!" I've clearly offended her by saying this, "They're my friends! And they're kind and loyal and honest!" she's acting like a child, yelling at me, forcing her own will. Her nostrils squeeze, then relax, several times through, as if she's smelling something. "You don't like them, I can feel it. What did they ever do to you?" she demands.

"Hey," Damon says. At first I think he's going to defend me, but then the look in his eyes softens, "I'm sorry," he says, "You know how humans are," what is he talking about, she's human as well. "Always so judgy," he smiles at her.

She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at Damon like she's deciding should she trust him or not. "Yes," she says finally, "Yes they are. I just didn't think this one would be so racist."

Me? Racist? Well, that's an A class joke.

Damon looks at me with a smile on his face, realizing how preposterous her sentence is as well. "Yes, well.." he slowly turns towards the girl, "I'm Damon," he introduces himself, "And this is Bonnie," he points at me.

The girl breaks into a smile. "My name is Hegemone. Welcome to my home!" she spreads her arms wide, showing us the richness of her reign. "Would you like something to eat?" she asks me politely, but I can see it in her eyes that she still doesn't trust me.

"Yes, please," I say. I've eaten the last cookie a long time ago and who knows when we'll come across food again. Especially fruit.

She gestures towards the tray she had left on the ground, "Serve yourself."

So I do. I sit on the ground, leaning against the fountain, picking through fruit, unable to decide where to start.

"We've heard you might be able to help us," Damon says.

Hegemone sighs. "Maybe. You want to go back home, I assume?"

"Yes," Damon nods.

"I will collect my gifts beforehand," she says, which makes me put the tray at the side. We still don't know what we're meant to give her. Rupert had mentioned she will want gifts, something we have plenty of, but he never said what's in stake. "Hmm," she puts her finger over her lips, "With whom should I start first?" she keeps looking between the two of us, until she stills her eyes on Damon. "I think I'll save you for the last," she tells him before turning to me. "Stand on your feet, please," she says.

I look at her wearily, deciding should I trust her or not. It's not like I have much choice, we did come to her, asking for help. And she's been friendly so far. Maybe a little bit emotional, but overall friendly.

So I stand up, looking at Damon. He nods at me even though he doesn't know what's going on either.

"You're afraid of me," she says sadly, "Don't be afraid," her voice is gentle, reassuring, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to take my gift. You won't miss it. You have plenty of feelings."

"Fe-feelings?" I ask confused.

"Yes," she confirms, "I like feelings. They make me all tingly inside. And when I tingle, I create. I bring things to life with the tips of my fingers," she giggles, waving her fingers in front of me.

I smile. She's kinda cute, it's impossible not to like her.

"You're still afraid," she says quietly, "You're shaking from the inside. It's not going to hurt, when I pull them out of you. It's going to be like a mosquito bite."

"When you take them, will I forget how I felt?" I ask. This is what scares me the most. That I'll forget how I'm supposed to feel about things. Again.

"No!" she says, almost offended. "That would damage you, and I don't hurt others. I will just borrow a little of it, you won't miss a thing," she explains.

And out of some weird and inexplicable reason, I trust her. Maybe because she sounds so honest and innocent, like a child. Like she's unable to lie. She reminds me of Caroline, I realize.

So I nod.

She raises her hands and puts her palms on my chest, just under my collar bones.

At first, I don't feel anything, but then it starts - like someone is tickling me, poking me gently with their fingers. Just like she said, similar to a mosquito bite.

"Oh," she says, "You're sad. Very much so. You miss your home, family and friends. Your sadness will serve me well, though I know it doesn't serve you."

"You can create with sadness?" I ask curiously. I'm almost getting used to the ticklish feeling in my chest.

Like my heart is having a hiccup.

"Oh yes!" she exclaims cheerfully, "Sadness is a great motivator. Artists create best when they're sad, as unfair as that sounds."

Yes, it does sound unfair. What makes so many people happy comes from someones dark place.

"There's a boy," she closes her eyes, a soft smile decorating her plum lips. "What's his name?" she cocks her head to the side.

I try to connect my memories to the feeling she's addressing. "Jeremy," I say, because his is the first face that flashes through my mind after she asks the question.

"Jeremy," she repeats in a sing song voice. Then, her eyes fly wide open, a serious expression on her face. "You can make yourself fall in love with someone, Bonnie," she says sadly.

Her words are like a slap across the face. "I-I love Jeremy," I say, trying to look straight at her, and not at Damon. _Please don't look at Damon._

She looks at me sympathetically. "I know you do. You love him deeply. I can feel that. I sense a lot of history between you two. You've known him for a long time. He's someone who has been in your life as long as you can remember. But you're not in love with him," she grimaces, "Not anymore, at least."

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to deny her words when she can sense everything I've locked away from myself.

"Do you know what I felt when you said his name?" she asks me.

Mostly out of curiosity, I ask - "What?"

I am a map I'm unable to read myself.

"Distrust."

I bring my eyebrows closer together. "That doesn't make sense. I trust Jeremy," he's one of the few people I, beside myself, trust completely, "I would trust him with my life."

"With your life, maybe," Hegemone responds, "But not with your heart."

To that, I don't have anything to say.

"You're proud," she continues, "You've saved someones life."

"Yes," to this, I have an answer, "Damon's."

Even as I say his name, I keep myself from looking at him.

"You gave him your blood," she states, "You liked it," those three words make my cheeks burn brightly. I can't believe she had said that out loud. "But there's something else. You would save almost anyone - that's who you are. This feeling surpasses complacency of keeping someone alive, it's - oh!" she squeaks, "Oh! I see," she giggles, "Nevermind."

What? What did she want to say?

I want to ask her, but she has already moved on to another feeling. "There's also a lot of confusion. You're struggling. It's not mixed emotion, it's like you have two people stuck in your head, each telling you how to feel."

"I lost my memories for a bit," I tell her, not sure if that plays any part in it.

"Oh," her voice turns sympathetic again, "That makes sense. You've developed some new feelings during your memory loss, feelings you now struggle to accept."

_Pretty much, yeah._

She opens her eyes, "Thank you," she removes her hands from my chest, and the ticklish feeling goes away, "I will use your feelings wisely," she smiles at me before turning around to walk over to Damon.

"Now you," she sounds excited, extending her hands towards him, "You vampires, you feel so strongly about everything," she presses her palms onto his chest, "With your feelings, I'll be able to make a rainbow and build a castle in the sky," she giggles.

He doesn't say anything and, at first, neither does she.

"Oh," she gasps, "Ooooh," she sounds pained, "Ouch. Oh, oh, oh. So much regret, it burns me. How can you live with it?" she cries out. "Why? Why did you do that to yourself? Why are you still doing it?" she's yelling at him, pressing harder onto his chest.

But Damon? He doesn't even budge. He just keeps looking at her with an indifferent expression on his face.

"You've hurt so many people. Caused so much pain. Some you regret. Some you think was deserved. Oh, so much pain, so much screaming, it's ringing inside of me," she crumbles his shirt with her fingers. Is this hurting her? Can his feelings damage her? Or is this a good thing? Is this the way she feeds herself? "You don't even know how many of those screams are your own," she tells him.

I don't know what she means by that, but it makes me sad out of some reason.

It also makes me curious. What does she see?

"There's one person you've hurt a lot, but never meant to. You love them as much as you had hurt them. You've betrayed them, held a grudge you now know was foolish. And you miss them a lot. So much. So many things went unsaid, and you wish you've sad them all now.."

"My brother," are the first words Damon says after a long while.

"Of course," Hegemone says, "Who else.." it's not a question, but a statement. No other answer would make sense.

"There are few ladies in your heart. You have loved unhappily. Even when you were happy, there was something holding you back, something was wrong, especially the last time," she stays quiet for a while, like she's searching for something, or trying to understand something she had stumbled upon, "Oh. Oh of course. Yes. This one is special. Forbidden. They're always forbidden. Distant. But this one is also different, very different. Oh, Damon," she cries out, but not in pain, in.. pleasure? "You're absolutely glowing. It's.. it's beautiful."

Damon? Glowing? What does she mean by that?

She's probably talking about Elena. Of course she's talking about Elena. Who else? She's the only woman Damon had truly loved.

Damon looks away from Hegemone, but he doesn't look at me. He looks up, his eyes shut.

"You have to tell her, Damon. You have to tell her, before you burn from the inside."

_Stop_, I want to yell at her. _Stop torturing him. He already told her and it didn't do him any good._

Then, she pulls her hands away from Damon, and he pulls his head down. But instead of stepping away from him, she takes him by the shoulders and pulls herself closer to him. She whispers something in his ear, something that makes his eyes go wide.

She steps away. "Thank you. I will harbor your feelings before I decide what to do with them. It's been a while since I've tasted such rich flavor."

When she turns around, I notice something - her face is streaked with tears. Can it be that Damon's feelings made her cry?

"My Aphids come to me daily, of course, but their feelings are.. limited," she smiles to me, "In the meantime, I'll see what I can do for you. It might take several days."

"Days?" I ask surprised.

"Of course," she laughs, "I'm not a witch, I don't know any spells, nor am I a prophet - I can't see into the future. I don't hold any answers. I will send my Aphids to trade for information," she says.

The first thing that pops into my mind is that coming here was a mistake. And a huge waste of time.

"You doubt me," Hegemone frowns at me, "I can assure you my Aphids are very successful in fulfilling their tasks. Now," her face turns gentle again, "You can stay with me until I'm able to provide you with answers. How does that sound?"

"Yes," Damon says before I have a chance to speak, "That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

"Let me show you to your room, then."

* * *

_**Well, at that talk about feelings was intense, don't you think?**_

_**I like Hegemone so much that I've decided to keep her for at least one more chapter.**_

_**I also wanted to thank you for your reviews! This is my first Bamon story so if you have any advice for me, feel free to share!**_

_***(For those who don't know, Hegemone is a Greek goddess of plants, she makes them bloom and bear fruit when they're supposed to).**_


	9. Chapter 9

"There's just one bed," I'm too tired to sound shocked. The last time I slept was when I was under the influence of the potion from the arrow and I'm not even sure that counts, since that experience only left me with sore wrists and a giant headache. I'm barely keeping my eyes open - several more minutes and they're going to close on their own. I'll lose control over my own body entirely.

I turn around to face Hegemone who was kind enough to accompany us to our room, and by the expression on her face I know that she can't tell what's the problem. "And two of us," I point out, but her expression doesn't change. Does she really expect us to share a bed?

"It's large enough for two," her voice is light and cheery, as usual. She's not doing this for her own entertainment. Two grown up people of the opposite sex sleeping in the same bed doesn't seem to faze her at all.

I look at her lazily, inspecting her from head to toe with eyelids half closed already. She doesn't remind me of a child, not in a way Letitia did, so I can't attribute her behavior to her age. Maybe her species are not sexual creatures. Maybe their rules are different.

I make a mental note to ask her about it later, when my brain is not shutting down on its own.

She is right, though. The bed can hold two people. Actually, it could probably hold at least six grown up people.

It's also made completely out of vines. Vines intertwining, lapping around each other, making a stable and hard surface. It looks weird and uncomfortable but, at this point, I don't even care. I just want to lay my head down and sleep for a day or two. Maybe even a week.

"It's okay," Damon's voice pops into the conversation, "I'm going to take the floor."

No one says a thing after that. Maybe I was supposed to offer to share the bed. Maybe I should - the bed is so big, if we sleep on the opposite sides there's no way we would touch. We would probably be further from each other than if he actually slept on the floor. But my brain is working so slow that it can't keep up with what's going on. The words slip away from me as soon as they pop into my mind, like they never existed at all.

"As you wish," Hegemone turns to leave, "I'll leave you to rest now."

The room looks strangely.. normal. Like something you would find in your neighbors house. Even the bed might pass as something abstract, some new age design. There are nightstands on each side of the bed, and a matching wardrobe nearby. Across from it is an old writing desk with a burning candle on the surface and under it there's a small stool. It's needless to say that everything is made out of light wood.

The floor and the walls are bare. I can feel the hard concrete under my feet as I stumble towards the table.

"Do you mind if I blow the candle out?" I ask out of kindness. I can't see why he would want to keep the light on since he probably wants to get some sleep as well.

"Yeah, go ahead."

The flame disappears as soon as I blow out the first puff of air. The room turns black, just like the inside of my head. My whole organism is shutting down and I fear I won't be able to reach the bed before collapsing on the ground. At this point, I wouldn't even mind, as long as I'm in a horizontal position.

I find that I have enough strength to move after all, so I start walking forward until I bump into something. Or someone.

"Woah," Damon says, concern evident in the tone of his voice. He doesn't have to say anything, I already know that his head is full of _are you okay_ and _do you need any help_. He puts his hands on my shoulders to steady me and my whole body awakens. When he moves his hands down my arms, wrapping his fingers around my flesh to make sure I'm standing straight, a sudden jolt of electricity shakes me up, starting at my toes.

I swallow. Suddenly, I'm aware of everything - I'm full of energy. But all that energy is for nothing because I can't seem to move. It's like someone glued my feet to the ground, forcing me to stay in this exact spot.

I'm afraid, and I've never been afraid of the dark. I've never believed in monsters in the black of the night and once I found out they do exist, I became too powerful to fear them. I made them fear me. But vampires and werewolves and only lord knows what else are not the only monsters in the dark. There are monsters far more dangerous.

Like feelings you shouldn't feel and touches that shouldn't mean anything, but mean everythings. Contacts that should be uncomfortable, but instead they make you joyful, they wake you up because you want to be present if they continue.

All the things you shouldn't be come out in the dark and that's where real monsters lie. Inside of you.

His touch is familiar, wanted. Some other Bonnie resurfaces and forces me to enjoy it, to sink into him as much as he sank into me. I feel relief, like I finally got something I've been waiting for a long time.

I hate her. I hate that Bonnie, the one who allowed this to happen. Who allowed him to get close, who made him want to get close. I hate her for making me enjoy this, because she's a part of me.

I take a step back without a word, tearing myself away from him.

"Bonnie?" he calls for me. His voice sounds hollow.

I reach my hand to the side and feel the edge of the bed with my fingers. I pull myself closer to it and keep reaching out for it until my knees are on the bed and I'm crawling towards the pillow.

"Goodnight, Damon," I say without emotion and for a moment I think that's what's giving me away. I'm trying too hard to sound indifferent when I shouldn't be trying at all.

He doesn't say anything but I can hear him walking. Then the footsteps stop and his body falls on the ground.

I expect to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, but I don't. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will myself into much needed sleep, but it doesn't come. I'm too awake now, too worried, too energized.

I can't tell if Damon's asleep. I can't hear his breathing because he doesn't breathe.

I change several positions. I even count sheep. But the sleep doesn't come. I'm exhausted of trying, I'm so exhausted of everything that I almost start to cry. I don't know what else to do. I feel like tears are the only things I haven't tried yet.

"You're different," I say. I don't know when I decided to speak or why I chose these words. It feels like they leave my mouth without my permission. I don't know.

One thing I do know, though, is that this is no time for a conversation. I'm too much and too little of everything, all at the same time.

He doesn't say anything. He's either asleep or he refuses to speak to me. Maybe he's offended by how I handled the earlier situation. He must know.. he must understand that..

What? What does he have to understand? That I feel like I'm made out of ten other versions of myself and that each of them is telling me a different story? That I remember his smile and warmth and silence that used to sooth me in the time of need? That sometimes I dream about that girl who was blessed with blissful ignorance and was stupid enough to feel for a creature who felt as empty as she did? Whose silence spoke more clearly than million other words other people said to her? The girl who lived for the moments when she could sneak out and join him in a room that smelled like alcohol and melody and him?

I'm not just that girl. I'm the girl he remembers before her, and the one before that. I'm hundred other girls he had never met. I'm stuck with all of them and the next Bonnie will be stuck with all of us. She will be stuck with my confusion and struggle and if she doesn't solve anything, the next one will inherit it then. I wonder am I ever going to move on from this state.

"So are you," he answers after a long period of silence. It surprises me - not his words, but his voice. I lost all hope in him answering.

"I'm not," I say stubbornly. Because I'm afraid to hear how different. Different from who? I'm afraid he still clings on to that Bonnie, and I can't give her to him.

"Yes, you are," he doesn't say this to argue with me, but because he believes it to be the truth, "You're different every time I wake up."

I don't know what to say to this. I don't even know what he means by it.

"You're not hasty anymore," I decide to go on, "You think about what to say before you say it. You don't rush into dangerous situations. You.." I'm getting sleepy again. Words are slipping away from me, one by one. "You're just different," I say before I forget what I've been talking about in the first place.

"Our situation is different," he says in a hushed tone.

I want to ask him what he means by our situation. The fact we have found ourselves here or the fact that I don't want to burn him alive anymore?

Why aren't you so sarcastic anymore, Damon? Why do you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention? I have never seen you smile before, not like that, not without some hidden agenda. Why do you smile at me like you used to smile at her? What's different?

I want to ask that question and many, many more, but sleep tackles me and I fall asleep with those words on my lips.

* * *

When I wake up, Damon is no longer on the floor. He's nowhere in the room.

A flash of worry goes through me, strain of fear that he abandoned me, left me alone in this place, because of something I did, or didn't say.

I don't know how long I slept, time here is still a confusing concept for me, but I feel fully rested. The bed might look uncomfortable, but it's the exact opposite. Maybe I've lowered my expectations during my stay here, but this is one of the comfiest beds I've ever slept on. It's soft and bouncy, my body sank into it so perfectly as if it's been designed for my proportions.

I spend at least 10 minutes convincing myself to leave it. With a heavy heart I move my legs to the edge and push myself off of the bed, which is when I notice I didn't even take my shoes off before falling asleep.

The room is still dark - there are no windows - but someone lit a candle again and moved it to the nightstand. Probably Damon.

I wonder what time it is, or at least is it night or day. When we came to the town, it was day. Probably late afternoon, judging by the position of the sun. But I know that here you can't rely on our earthly signs, so I'm just guessing. That's all I'm left with.

I move towards the door and open them with ease. I find relief in knowing they're not locked.

I get out into a bright hallway and before I even make a step, I hear Hegemone calling my name. "Bonnie," she says joyfully. Her voice is like music; she's singing instead of speaking. She sounds pleased to see me here - maybe she's hungry for company. As far as I know, she lives here alone.

I turn around. The sight of her makes me smile. She looks like Spring and smells like rain, there are roots spiraling around her wrists, like bracelets. There are flowers in her hair, but they don't look like she tucked them in - they look like they're growing out of her head. She's wearing a different dress - sleeveless yellow dress, like the sun, so long that it drags behind her on the ground as she walks.

"Hello," I say, watching her flutter toward me. She doesn't look like she's walking, but floating an inch above the ground, almost unnoticeable under her dress. "Do you know where Damon is?" I remember to ask.

She nods. Her cheeks are so peachy. "He asked for permission to go outside. To the town."

My eyes go wide, there's no way for her to not notice it, she's looking at me directly. "Don't worry. It's safe."

I'm not worried. I'm surprised. What is he doing out there? "Damon can take care of himself."

She smiles in a way that tells me she thinks she knows something that I don't. "Of course," she sounds amused, "Walk with me. I was just heading towards the garden for the third meal. Did you sleep well?"

Third meal? Is that dinner? Does that mean it's night?

"Like a baby," I say.

She grabs my arm and holds me tightly, pulling me in the direction she's headed. We walk down the hallway in complete silence until we finally reach large, wooden doors. They're probably the same doors I ran into yesterday or whenever it is we first came here. But now the hallway is lit and I can see them perfectly - they're tall enough for a giant to step through, made out of dark wood with reddish glow. Above the arch there's a sign, but the letters are too small and too far away for me to see. Hegemone's long, graceful fingers wrap around a golden, round knob and she pushes them wide open. This time, the light coming from the inside doesn't blind me, because it's the same intensity as the light in the hallway.

"What does it say above the doors?" I ask curiously as I follow her through the familiar room.

"Creare non potest animus manuum vestrarum," her voice is so melodic that she makes me think the words are a part of a song, but once she translates the sentence for me, I can tell that's not the case. "Let your mind create what your hands cannot."

We walk over to a piece of land which is full of leaves and tiny white flowers popping their heads among the leaves. "Let me show you," she crouches down, her dress falling around her. She extends her hand over the leaves and squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn't say anything, but I can tell that she's concentrating, so I keep my mouth shut.

We stay like that - her on the ground, me hovering above her, both silent - for several minutes, until something finally starts happening. At first I don't notice it at all, little red balls among the leaves. But then they start growing bigger and bigger until they reach their natural size.

Strawberries.

Hegemone pulls her hand back and opens her eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looks proud.

"How did you do that?" I ask in awe.

She plucks a strawberry and gets to her feet, shaking the dirt off of her dress. "I have a gift," she offers me the strawberry so big it covers my palm, "You have it as well."

I examine the strawberry. It's so perfect, so symmetrical that for a moment I think it's plastic. "I could never do something like this," I say. Maybe revive a plant, fasten its growth. But to make strawberries grow almost out of nothing? I doubt it.

"You could, with enough practice," she encourages me.

Can everyone here sense my powers?

"You know," she starts walking, so I follow her, tasting the strawberry. Soon I realize that nothing so juicy and delicious could ever be plastic. "I fell in love with a wrong person once."

Her confession surprises me, so I look up at her, but all I'm met with is her back.

"Really?" I ask suspiciously.

"A mortal," she says sadly, taking a place by the fountain. Her eyes meet mine and I can see her pain. I can sense it. "It was early Spring," she remembers with a smile on her face, "I was in the woods, talking to the wind, minding my own business. Everything was in the bloom, I made sure of it. Tree branches stood tall and proud, rich with leaves, and flowers were bright and colorful. I made the grass especially soft that Spring, I remember."

I take a place beside her, suddenly all ears.

"When all of a sudden I've heard someone humming. I was surprised because no one ever comes that deep into the woods. So of course, I got curious, and I started following the hum. I saw him, with his arms behind his back, walking between the trees, humming some melody," so she starts humming it herself. I don't recognize it, but I can see why she found it beautiful.

"He was playing, skipping around the trees, touching the grass with his fingertips, smelling the flowers. I got too close to him, so that first day I ran away before he sees me. We're not allowed to show humans our true form," I still don't know what she is, and right now I don't even think to ask.

"But I came back tomorrow, same time, same place. And he was there. He was there tomorrow, and the day after that, and the one after that. And every day in the future. I was watching him from afar. One day I got daring," she bumps into me, raising her eyebrow in the air, "I turned myself into a tree, just so he would touch me. And when he did, my heart turned into a song."

"He was the most beautiful boy I've ever seen," she says joyfully, describing him as if she can see him standing in front of her. Maybe she can. "The color of his hair reminded me of wheat, which is how I learned to appreciate a plant I used to find boring. I never thought of it as plain again. And his eyes," all of a sudden her voice turns sad, pained, "They looked like someone cut a piece of sky and stored it in his eyes."

"Wh-what happened?" I ask when she stops talking, playing with her hands nervously.

"I did a really stupid thing. I showed him my true self, despite the rules, despite knowing what will happen. I knew he would fall in love with me," she says this sadly as if that's the worst thing in the world.

"How did you know?" I ask curiously.

She looks at me, like the answer is not obvious. "Humans can't handle the beauty of gods."

Gods? She's a freaking goddess? If she's a goddess, what in the world is she doing here?

"Did he fall in love with you?"

"Of course he did," she answers stiffly, like I've offended her. That was never my intention. "I was selfish. I didn't care if he only loves me because of what I am. I was able to convince myself he loves me for me - for the stories I've told him and songs I've taught him. He also taught me that humans can wield magic as well."

I look at her wearily. They can?

No, I would have know.

She cocks her head to the side. "A kiss."

Oh. Do gods not kiss?

"We got a few days before my father found out."

"How did he find out?"

"My crops started dying. I wasn't paying attention to them anymore. He found that weird, so he had me followed," she inhales.

I swallow. "What happened then?"

"He sent me here," she spreads her arms, "As a punishment. Until I fall out of love and start concentrating on my job. But I tricked him," she smiles sadly, jumping to her feet. She walks over to the apple tree and takes an apple between her fingers, twirling it around. "I learned how to love both."

"When was this?"

"Oh, I don't know," her voice is light again, as if she just didn't tell me a story that ruined her life, "Few centuries ago. Six, maybe seven."

My breath gets stuck in my throat. The boy is dead by now already. But she still loves him. If she didn't, her father would free her of this place. Does she know that the boy is dead by now?

"Did you ever find out what happened to the boy?"

"No," I can see her shaking her head from behind, "I don't have an access to his dimension anymore. Can I ask you something?" she turns to me, her eyes glowing.

"Yes."

"How's the nature in your dimension?" she flutters to me, getting on her knees and placing her palms on mine. "The trees and the fruits and flowers and everything?" she asks excitedly. "Oh, your dimension has always been my favorite. It was the only dimension where I've been able to grow freely and fully, always with success. I've planted so many beautiful things there."

Do I tell her? Do I tell her about all technology and factories and expanding cities that ruined everything she had created?

Do I tell her humans don't appreciate her work at all?

No. I can't do it. I can't break her heart like that.

"Everything is wonderful. So wonderful," I smile, squeezing her hands.

"Oh good," she smiles widely, "That's good."

"Can I ask you something as well?"

"Of course."

"Do you ever regret it? What you did?"

"No," she says without giving it a second thought, "I wouldn't do anything differently, if given a second chance. Except maybe be more careful. Just because a person is not right, doesn't mean they're not right for you."

"But if you didn't do it, you wouldn't be trapped here. You would be able to go back to my dimension and grow things and be happy," I argue.

She doesn't say anything. She just looks at my sadly, like she pities me.

"We all makes sacrifices in the name of love."

* * *

**_DAMON'S POV_**

I know that I shouldn't look. I should close the door with me on the other side, opposite of her, like it's supposed to be.

My eyes should never know her like this. My brain should never want to write her name in stone. The thing is, I don't think this is my brains fault. Another organ is to blame, one that is not functional for more than 160 years.

She's a witch. Witches hate vampires. They hate me especially.

I know that I should take my eyes off of her. She's having a private moment. It's impolite to intrude like this. But then again, I've never claimed to be polite, and she knows it. She knows my faults all too well.

She's in a fountain, completely naked. Taking a bath. I can only see a shadow, an outline of a body through a spiraling waterfall.

She makes me regret every awful thing I've ever done. When she looks at me all she can see is a murderer, a person who caused others harm, who killed innocents as a way to avoid his own frustrations.

And she has a full right to do so, because I'm guilty of it all.

But she makes me wish I hadn't done it, because every time I look into her eyes I see every bad thing I've ever done. All the things I did to her, all the ways I've hurt her. I'm ashamed, because now I know how she sees me.

She makes me wish I'm someone else just so she wouldn't look at me like that anymore. Like I'm going to rip her throat out if she says the wrong thing.

I hate that she thinks I'm capable of doing it. I hate it because it's true. I've done it more than once.

The water makes her hair stick to her neck. She moves her shoulder blades as if she's hiding wings underneath. Like they're going to unravel any minute now and I'm finally going to understand why she shines so bright. When she lifts her arms to splash water on her face she arches her back and I want to follow her spine up and down with my fingers.

I squeeze my eyes shut to settle this hunger growing in me, hunger that has nothing to do with blood, and I remember the words Hegemone had whispered in my ear - _"She's not as unreachable as you think she is."_

* * *

**_A/N: I've included a bit of Damon's point of view - how do you like it?_**


	10. Chapter 10

"My Aphids came to me this morning, bearing wonderful news concerning your request," Hegemone says cheerfully, throwing grapes, one after another, right into her mouth. Her hair is being held by a thin, flexible vine into a high ponytail today, swaying behind her graciously, like a horse's tail.

We're sitting by the fountain, feasting on various fruits. If her bugs came back with news, we'll be leaving soon, so I want to eat as much as possible. I wonder will she let me bring some of the fruit with me, for later. I make a quick promise to myself that I won't be so greedy with food this time.

"They went to a fair in a town nearby," she gestures behind herself, trying to show us the direction of the town. My eyes fall on her wrist and a bracelet made out of spiraling leaves and colorful flowers wrapping around her gentle, pale skin. She looks like she hasn't been out in the soon for years, which is weird for someone who enjoys nature as much as she does. "Vuelo, where the Abejas rule. A wonderful land, from what I hear," her cheeks look like she swallowed the sun. They're puffy, holding the grapes inside of her mouth, and reddish-orange like the sunset.

"And?" Damon says stiffly, trying too hard not to give away his curiosity, "What did they find out?"

I look up at him. He's standing, towering above us like a large shadow, dressed all in black, brooding. He's been quiet lately - we haven't talked since the first day we came over here, except that one time when I gave him some more of my blood. Again. He said that, if it makes me more comfortable, I could just pour it into a glass, but I said I don't mind, because no, pouring my blood from my wrist into a glass doesn't really make me anymore comfortable than him drinking right from the source does. As he drank, I wondered when will we finally stumble upon someone who will be more than happy to share their blood with him. A sympathizer.

At the same time I wished that moment doesn't come soon, which made my skin turn reddish out of shame.

"In a house not so far from here lives a pair of siblings," she starts without reprehending him for rushing her, "A brother and a sister. Twins, from what I hear," saying that puts a childlike smile on her lips, "Nature is so wonderful. It creates two mirror images and puts them in two completely different bodies," she looks from me to Damon, her eyes full of secrets I know nothing about. When she realizes she got off track again, she shakes her head to continue. "A witch and a warlock. They might be able to help you."

"How?" Damon allows himself to sound just like he feels - curious and in a hurry. He's done with masking the true state of his spirit.

"You will have to ask them that question," she answers calmly.

He doesn't say anything for a while, he just keeps looking at her, his expression indifferent, but his eyes intense. I can tell that he's not in a good mood, his arms are crossed over his chest, like he's trying to defend himself from something trying to get in.

"We better get going then," he says while I'm trying to trap myself in his mind, just to find out what's going on inside of his head.

Hegemone stands to her feet, so I follow her lead. I don't remember the last time I felt so relaxed, refreshed and full, like I payed a visit to the spa. I haven't felt like this even when we were home - maybe years ago, when things were simpler, in some other life.

"It was a pleasure having you as my guests," she smiles gently, creating a warm atmosphere in the garden, "I hope we'll see each other again one day."

Damon doesn't say anything, he makes his way towards the door, so I take liberty to say thanks in both of our names.

"I'm sorry for asking," I eye the fruits on the plate by the fountain, calling out to me, even though I'm miles away from being hungry, "But do you think I could take some fruit to go?"

"Oh," her lips take the shape of a letter _o_, her whole body standing taller, like she got to her toes. At first I think she's ashamed that she didn't think to offer sooner, but then her whole face falls and I know that's not the case. "I'm sorry, but no," she says sympathetically, "Nothing can leave this room. Well, it can, but as soon as it does, it dies. It turns into ashes. Same would happen to me if I tried to leave this castle," she spreads her arms out, gesturing around the place.

I gasp. "But why?" my voice sounds horrified. I don't care about the food anymore, all I care about is settling my curiosity.

"It's a part of my punishment," her voice becomes quiet and husky, "My father trapped me in here. He couldn't take my gift away, but he found a way to limit it."

At first, after she told me her story, I thought she's being stubborn. And childish. That she's doing all of this just to spite her father. Torturing herself in the name of something, or someone, that's long gone.

But during these past few days I've realized that's not the case. Coming here wasn't her choice, but staying is. That's what this is about - having control over your own life. Maybe she's living a lesser life than the one that's meant for her, but this suffering is her choice made upon her actions.

No one should be punished for falling in love, even if that person is someone who, to them, is forbidden. Love doesn't ask about the rules and customs people make for themselves, often out of silly reasons.

"I'm sorry," I say, because I really am sorry. I wish there was a way for me to help her, but I know that there isn't. I can't force the will of gods.

She nods, telling me that she believes me.

I give her a hug before running after Damon, leaving Hegemone in the solitude and loneliness she's choosing to live in day after day.

* * *

The Aphids that gathered the information we need wait for us in front of the castle doors to give us the directions to the twins house. It's still weird to see bugs standing up straight, as tall as us, talking. But they are nice and polite and helpful.

More than most humans are.

"You don't seem to be so disgusted by them anymore," Damon makes an observation once we leave the city walls.

I shrug. "I think I've gotten used to them. Or at least the idea of them."

That's a lie. I've been talking to Hegemone and I realized I didn't use to be like this. This is who life made me out to be - extra cautious and weary of everything.

Not all monsters do monstrous things and not everything that's different is bad. I used to know this before vampires and werewolves came into my life, wearing faces of my friends, but turning into murderers as soon as I turn my back. Coming here, that kinda stuck with me, with the difference that there are so many species here.

And the exterior doesn't always reflect what's inside.

Fairies are beautiful, gracious and gentle, but they're also hateful and vain and stuck up with their own beliefs. Aphids, on the other hand, aren't easy to the eye, but they're warm and friendly.

Evil can hide anywhere, often in the most beautiful things. It doesn't come with horns but, most of the times, comes in a form we would never expect it to be. Often in the form of things we want the most.

He doesn't say anything, he takes my answer in without any objections.

It's good to be outside again, under the light of the sun, even if it seems artificial. This mild wind feels good on my skin. I remember Hegemone and think about how she'll probably never see this, never feel the call of her true home, the nature. The thought makes me sad, it digs out a pit inside of my stomach and makes itself comfortable in there, like this is where this feeling belongs. Maybe it's so familiar because it reflects well on my fear of never getting home myself.

The ground underneath my feet is solid, we walk down the clear, narrow path, surrounded with nothing but grass. No matter to which side I turn my head, all I can see is the clearing, miles and miles of meadow.

"You know," I start once the silence becomes unbearable. We're alone enough in this dimension, there's no need to further away from each other as well. "We're going to the witches house. They might be your enemies," he looks at me, his eyes glimmering under the light, reminding me of the waterfall in Hegemone's fountain. I realize that maybe I should have said _our_ enemies. Just because they're like me doesn't mean they won't try to kill me just for associating with him.

He looks away from me as quickly as he had looked at me, huffing. "Yes, witches do have a tendency to hate me."

Witches hate all vampires. We're natural enemies. But Damon seems to tick them more than other vampires. I should know, he does the same to me. Or at least he used to.

Maybe he still does, just in a different way.

"Not all witches," I point out.

I can see his muscles jump underneath his jacket. He stays quiet for a while, but something urges him to speak, like the words will eat him out from the inside if he doesn't let them out. "Lately, I'm not so sure about that."

I come to a halt, like his words formed a wall that doesn't let me pass through.

"What's up with you?" I ask stiffly, my voice hard and detached.

When he finally realizes I've stopped walking he stops as well, turning around to face me. He grimaces, which is the most emotion he showed in a while.

"Nothing," he answers, and I can hint surprise in his voice. He didn't expect me to fire back. He thinks I don't want to get into an argument with him.

And I don't but, out of some reason, his behavior bothers me too much to let it go.

"No, this isn't nothing," I frown, my face hardening, "One moment you're hot, the other you're cold, and I don't know why. What affects your behavior, exactly? Why are you treating me like this? What do you want from me?" I realize I have way more questions than I've initially thought so.

He stays quiet, hoping I will shrink down under the intensity of his look.

"Well?" I add to push him, to make him realize I'm not giving up just like that.

"Fine!" he throws his arms in the air as a sign of giving up, "Want to know what I want from you?" he closes the distance between us and when she stands right on front of me, our faces nearly touching, the warmth of his body surprises me. He's usually so cold, his skin is like stone, but now it feels like as if he swallowed the sun and his skin is made out of fire. "I want you to stop pretending, Bonnie!" he shouts right into my face, making me blink ten times per second, which is nine times too much.

"I'm not pretending," I try to say with a steady voice, but the words come out so unsure, like they're traveling down a road with so many curves that they have to stop every few seconds so they don't crash. Even I can tell they don't sound truthful.

He laughs at my failed attempt to cover the truth. "Of course you are!" he raises his voice, "You've been pretending ever since you got your memories back."

I squint at him. "And what have I been pretending about, exactly?" I sound more determined, more sure in myself now. His anger gives me courage. Or at least fuels something else inside of me.

"Us!" he screams, and my eyes go wide with surprise. So do his, which tells me his answer surprised him as much as it surprised me. "We were on a good path of becoming friends," he continues, pretending as if nothing had happened, "We had something. An understanding. And then it just disappeared, in the blink of an eye."

I can feel all these emotions boiling inside of me. Anger. How does he dare to speak to me in this manner? Who does he think he is? Fear, because he had finally brought it up. I have to talk about it now. I have to give him either the truth, or a very good excuse to cover up the truth. And I'm not a very good liar.

My heart is beating so fast, I can feel it in every inch of my body. My heels are pulsating, making me jittery.

"I haven't been pretending. I just thought it would be easier if we didn't bring it up," I say meekly. I don't blame him if he doesn't believe me. I don't believe myself either.

"Bullshit."

"You know what, Damon?" something inside of me finally snaps and I decide to fire back at him with equal measure, "Yeah, I lost my memories, I didn't know who you were, so of course I treated you differently. Hell, you treated me differently as well. I never claimed you're evil, even after all the messed up things you did, and there were a lot of them," I spit out in disgust as his evildoing's flood my memories, "I know all the bad things you did, because most of them you did to me," I don't accuse him. We're so beyond that. I simply state a fact, one that makes him wince.

"And I'm not holding them over your head right now. I never did. I didn't go around begging you to change, ordering you to stop being a monster. Not because I didn't care, but because you kept claiming that's who you are and we both know better than that. Yet, you fooled almost everyone else, because you started believing in it yourself, and it became your excuse. I don't need your excuses!" I yell at him and he takes steps back, as if the intensity of my voice pushed him away.

At first I thought I won't have any words to give him, but now I realize that, maybe, I have too many.

"And I don't need to justify myself to you! Memory loss or no memory loss, you did all those awful things, and that's a fact. And I can't forget them. I won't. I'm not Elena."

Her name coming out of my mouth in this conversation punches him in the middle of the face and knocks him right down. It counts as playing dirty and I know it, but I haven't done it on purpose. It just slipped out, like a thought I'm not able to contain because I'm not even aware it's been on my mind.

We stare at each other, no words being spoken by either of us, when he finally regains his composure and says, with so much venom in his voice - "You're right, you're not Elena," he pierces me with his eyes which are no longer the color of a calming water, but a raging storm. The deep sea of his eyes covers me whole and swallows me into the oblivion. "You could never be Elena."

The last sentence hits me in all the wrong places, places Damon's words should never be able to reach.

I feel bruised from the inside, like someone picked me up from the street, while I was still in pieces, and stitched me back up, but in the wrong order. I feel all messed up now, like things are not where they're supposed to be.

I don't know why I take this as offensive. I don't know why it hurts this much when it shouldn't hurt at all.

When did his words become a weapon and not just a hum in the wind, like they used to be?

I swallow, trying to stop my voice from jumping up and down in my throat.

"Well," I say, my voice vibrating in a weird way, like an animal you're trying to push out of its hiding place, "As long as we have that settled," I step around him, hurrying down the path, towards the unknown. Everything's better than standing in front of him right now.

I don't want him to see my face. I won't cry, I know that I won't. I rarely cry. But I wear an expression of shock I don't want him to see.

I can't hear him follow and, right now, I prefer it that way.

* * *

I'm wandering around the Salvatore mansion. There's a map of it in my mind, I know every curve and every turn, to where all the hallways lead to, but right now, I seem lost.

It's dark, there are no lights on, I can't even hear the fire cracking from the living room and I know Damon starts the fireplace every evening. The night is creeping in through the large windows covering the walls in their height.

I'm wearing a long, white cotton nightgown, one I'm sure is not mine. I don't own any nightgowns. I'm walking on my toes, quietly, carefully, in order not to be heard. I'm unsure about where I'm going, I can see the confusion in my eyes, even though I'm trying to hide it behind an expression of a warrior. My _nothing can touch me_ face, when I'm actually as frightened as a person can get.

We're not the same person, the girl and me, I can feel it. She wears my face and has my movements, but she's some other Bonnie I left behind, I don't know exactly when.

I can hear the music all of a sudden. I jerk my head in the direction it's coming from, but the problem is that it's coming from everywhere.

It's all around me, becoming louder and louder, as if someone is playing it inside of my ear.

It's painfully familiar.

I press my palms against my ears to quiet it down, squeezing my eyes shut like the sound can affect my sight as well.

Everything turns pitch black and I gasp for air. My body comes up in a sitting position by its own, my throat opening widely so the sound of my lungs begging for air can be heard.

I was sleeping. It was a dream. _It was only a dream._

I'm looking down, my eyes recognize the grass, and I can still feel something pressing against my spine. I must have been lying on a rock or against a tree trunk.

I lift my eyes from the ground to inspect my surroundings. When I fell asleep, the daylight was still on. I told Damon I need to rest my eyes for a while and he agreed to it without complaining. He sat on the ground opposite of me, preparing to rest as well. He didn't need it as much as I did, but he still welcomed it.

But when I look straight ahead of me, I don't see Damon.

There's someone else standing in front of me, his face nearly touching mine. A boy with a hood over his head. The only thing I can see are his eyes and they're glowing in the dark.

When he pushes the hood down, I scream.


	11. Chapter 11

When the boy pushes his hood back, a shrill wail of surprise escapes my throat.

He doesn't resemble a young boy at all, but a warrior from ancient times when life on this planet still wasn't tied up by rules. He looks like he jumped through time, landing here, into a trap.

His eyes are red. Not bloodshot, but actually red, like wine. Maybe even lighter. There is a small, dark pupil in the middle of each of his eyes while his irises are silver. It looks like spider has woven a web inside of his eyes.

I can't see the color of his skin because it's been stained by mud, like a mask. I can see the circles his palms made as he applied the mud to his face. His hair is hanging down his face in dirty, greasy strands, reminding me of spaghetti. It reaches his shoulders and sticks to his cheeks as the wind carries it helplessly.

There are cuts all over his face, little red slashes, like he's been cut by paper numerous time in a row. On his cheeks there are two stains, applied almost symmetrically, in equal length. He must have done it on purpose, like he soaked his fingertips in blood and pulled two of them over the length of his cheeks.

He moves his face closer to mine and I stumble back out of fear. I can see him clearly when he comes this close to me, too clearly for my liking. I can see every cut like I plunged the hilt of a knife into his flesh myself.

"Masih," he says something into a language I don't understand. I'm not surprised to hear some unknown language, I'm used to it by now. The only one who spoke English was the prophet, Rupert. Everyone else spoke in their own languages out of which I could only recognize Latin. But when they spoke, I understood them. My ears heard their words as they are, but my brain whispered the translation to me in a language I would understand.

That's not the case this time - I don't understand what he's saying.

In a moment of surprise, when I so dumbly and carelessly lose attention, he comes close to me again. I watch him in fear as our noses almost touch, I look into his eyes and the only thing I can see is death.

I could defend myself from him. He's just one boy, no matter how dangerous he looks, I have magic. I could take him down with no problems, at least long enough to escape.

But I don't want to hurt him if he means no harm.

So I save a spell on the tip of my tongue in case he attacks.

He lowers his head down, in the area of my neck, and sniffs me. He actually sniffs me, like an animal. He's a predator and I am his pray and that position makes me uncomfortable.

He moves away from me, standing back to his feet. _He can't be taller than me,_ I think. He has a posture of a 12 year old boy. Maybe where he comes from 12 is old, or at least old enough.

When he stands up his robe falls open and I realize that he's naked underneath. In that position, he's standing right under the light of the moon or whatever comes out at night out here to lighten the path. His torso is solid - I can see the curve of his muscles way from over here. The skin on his chest is smooth and clear, the same color as mine.

There's something unnatural about seeing so many muscles on someone who looks so young. He obviously has to defend himself from his attackers a lot, to develop such strength.

Or from his prey, trying to escape.

There are weapons sticking out of his robe - slick wooden sticks, an axe, something resembling a large hammer - a large rock tied to a thick wooden pole.

It must be hard for him to carry all those weapons with him all the time. Maybe that's how he got all those muscles, from all the heavy lifting he does.

"Manusia," he nods at me, his eyes stern and heavy, like the whole world depends on him. I don't know what that means or what he's trying to say, but he says it one more time, but louder, like he's making an announcement. "Manusia!" he screams and I wonder how far does his voice travel through the woods.

He twirls around, his feet heavy on the ground, bare and bruised. He's waiting for something.

In a few seconds I find out what that something is. Several more red eyes step out of the dark followed by several more and so on until there's at least hundred of them.

They all look alike in their robes and muddy faces. Like a tribe.

And the boy who approached me must be their leader.

He turns around to look at me, his expression never changing. His face is like a rock.

"Human," he says in language I do understand, in a very strange accent. The word comes out distorted, almost not resembling itself in its true meaning.

When he talks his face doesn't change, it's a stone hard mask with no emotion at all.

As he says that word - human - my mind flies instantly to Damon. He is not human and that might be a very bad thing. Or a very good one, depending on what these guys are after. They look like they might tear a person apart with their bare hands. And enjoy it.

My eyes buck widely in order to find him but either he's not here, or I can't see him in the dark.

I'm not sure what to do next. If I tried to communicate with them, would they understand me? Is there something they want from me? Because I can feel 200 eyes on me, pinning me down to the ground.

I can't take them all. Maybe with an entrapment spell, but that wouldn't last long. I would need some ingredients for the long term one.

I can hear someone yelling. "Pontianak! Pontianak!" the whole tribe turns towards the direction the voice came from. Something flies out of the woods, a black ball with limbs, and falls on the ground.

A boy follows it out of the woods, unusually calm. "Pontianak!" he announces, pointing towards the ground. There's blood on his robe, but he doesn't seem too concerned by it. Either it's not his, or he's used to shedding blood.

The rest of the tribe looks down towards where the boy is pointing at. Some of the boys gasp and step back. I notice that they don't have as many weapons in their robe as the others. They just carry the long stick, gripping it tightly with their fingers. They're probably not as expert warriors as the rest of them.

I lost my sight of whatever came flying from the woods. It merged with the darkness.

Until it starts moving. Its head comes up slowly, and the moonlight shines its face.

_Damon._

I swallow hard when he looks up at me. His eyes are full of questions I don't understand, but he doesn't plead for help. No, Damon never would.

Even now, when his face is smeared with blood, cuts digging into his flesh just bellow the surface. If I didn't spend so much time studying his face, trying to understand him, I wouldn't recognize him. He looks like someone pinned him down and kept punching him time over time with their fists.

"Pontianak," the leader spits out and for the first time, his expression changes. It's full of disgust and anger. Maybe even hate.

He circles around Damon and I realize that he really does have instincts of an animal.

"Kekejian," he hisses, his eyes darkening, transforming to the color of blood. He's lusting for it.

I realize something in that moment. They despise vampires, because they're unnatural, because they need blood to survive, because their survival often depends on the death of others.

But these boys, whatever they are, are far worse than vampires. They also need their daily dose of blood, but not to survive. To feel alive. They're like raw animals who haven't felt blood on their teeth in a long time. They don't kill vampires because they despise them. They kill them because they're the only thing they can kill without an excuse, to satisfy their selfish need for spilled blood.

"Vampire!" he shouts, his weird accent creeping back into his voice.

He turns towards the rest of the tribe. "Apa yang kita lakukan dengan vampire?" he asks his people with a rise of his voice.

I don't know what he's saying, and neither does Damon. He looks scared, even though he would never admit it. He doesn't even like to show it.

"Membunuh!" one of the boys in the first row yells.

"Ya!" the leader shouts, taking his stick out of the robe, "Membunuh," he repeats.

Then, he turns to me, his eyes flaring, and whispers - _kill._

* * *

"Kill," he says, pointing his stick towards the sky.

The rest of the tribe follows his lead and soon enough they're all chanting it. _Kill, kill, kill._

I look at Damon who's already calculating his next move. I can see it in his eyes - he's looking for a way to escape. The boy didn't even bother to tie him up, so he doesn't have to free himself from anything. Yet, I don't think there's any way for him to escape, and he knows it. Just one boy applied such injuries on him, so imagine what 100 of them could do.

I have to think of something. And fast, while they're still doing their macho chanting ritual.

I don't know how to distract them. I don't know their language, nor do I know would they understand mine thoroughly. If I make any sudden movements they might take them the wrong way and then we'll be in even more trouble than we are now.

They stop chanting when the leader lowers his stick down. He tucks it back into his rope and takes an axe in his hands, his fingers gripping tightly around the wooden pole.

Damon could stop him if he tried to hit him, both of us know that, but what then? There's still at least 50 of boys with same axes tucked into their robes.

The boy stands next to him, his presence towering over Damon even though Damon is twice his size. He doesn't say enough, but his eyes speak loud enough exactly what's on his mind. He lifts the hammer in the air, high above his head, ready to smack Damon with it.

The hit on the head won't kill Damon. It will hurt like hell, but it won't kill him. He doesn't want to kill him, at least not quite yet. He wants to torture him before ending his life.

Fire rises inside of me, starting at my toes, and it fires up through me like a volcano eruption, pushing all the anger outside with it.

Without giving it a second thought I lift my hand in the air, concentrating on the axe in the boys grip. I imagine it in my mind, I can feel it in my grip. Smooth, thick wooden pole. Heavy. Dangerous. Powerful. The image in my mind reflect the reality in front of my eyes. Then, I imagine the axe flying out of the boys hands.

I move my hand and the weapon leaves his hands, flying through the air, before he has a chance to use it. I make sure no one is near the tree in which I make the axe fly into. Sharp edge gets stuck into the tree trunk, hanging out of it.

The boy looks confused. He stares into his empty hands as if his eyes are deceiving him.

Few of the boys gasp.

"Sihir!" someone yells.

The leader looks at me with an angry look in his eyes.

I jump to my feet. "Run!" I yell at Damon who's, thankfully, fast on his feet as well.

We're surrounded by at least hundred boys with armory. I lift my hand in hurry, making it fly from left to right, making enough space for us to pass. The boys fall on the ground, parting like the sea, as if some invisible beast ran among them and pushed them aside.

We run into the dark woods while they're on the ground.

Damon is faster than me - after just few seconds I can't see him anymore. I hear his footsteps thumping against the ground, his body colliding with the wind, running faster than I could ever imagine to.

I'll never make it. I wish there was a spell to make me faster. I wish witches really flied on their broomsticks.

I can feel someone gripping my wrist. I turn my head back to see what's after me only to see the harsh and determined lines of Damon's face fighting their way through the dark. His fingers grip around my wrist, squeezing me tightly enough for me to feel as if my bone is cracking under the pressure.

And then, we're flying.

Not really, but that's how it feels. So this is how it is to run as a vampire. Like you're moving through a vacuum.

I have to close my eyes because I feel like the air is going to bruise them. I'm running faster than I should be able to, than any mortal could - the wind is deadly and I understand why planes are made out of steel.

I can't tell how far or for how long we run, because there are other things on my mind. Like is this how it feels to have wings? We finally stop when we reach a small clearing, encircled by tall, bushy trees.

"W-what was th-that?" I don't allow him enough time to piece himself together before throwing questions at him, meanwhile trying to catch my breath.

"I have no idea," he answers relatively quickly.

"Where did they come from?" I know he doesn't have answers to any of my questions, but I have to ask. It's all I'm left with.

"I don't know," he shakes his head rapidly, "I didn't hear them, or smell them, let alone see them. I was taking a walk in the woods," he stops, choosing his next words, "Trying to clear my head.."

I know that he's not lying, but there's something he has trouble explaining.

"I was nearby, when one of them jumped me and smashed me on the face with some kind of a rock," he says angrily, frustrated he had let it happen.

"Well, whoever they are, they're clearly one of those _we hate vampires_ kind," I state.

He's about to say something when a figure falls out of a tree, kicking and shouting like a rabid animal.

It's one of them. I recognize him as soon as he stands before me, his hood away from his face and his robe half open, exposing his naked chest and a heart thumping wildly inside of it.

He rises his weapon, ready to strike me, but before either of us are able to make our move, Damon's hands find their way to the boys neck. He wraps it around, like it's made out of rubber, and his neck breaks.

It last only a moment, less than a second, but the sound keeps echoing in my ears for a long time. I don't think it will ever stop - I'll fall asleep and wake up with the sound of bones cracking in my ears for the rest of my life.

The boys life leaves his eyes and his body crumples on the ground, like he's a puppet made out of paper.

At first I'm stunned - I can't believe it's this easy to take someones life.

A human would probably have to put more effort into breaking someones neck, but for a vampire it comes easy. Naturally.

I try not to look at the boy on the ground, his eyes still open, staring back at me, making an accusation.

I push at Damon's chest. "What did you do that for?" I yell at him, my expression a distorted mask of anger.

He looks at me, confused, as if we didn't just witness the same thing. "He was going to kill you," he says calmly, like he had put his mind into not getting worked up, "Then me. So he would have ended up dead either way."

"We could have handled it some other way!" I'm angry at him for using me as an excuse to spill blood.

"Yeah?" he snorts, "And what way is that?" he mocks me.

"I don't know! I would think of something!" I'm still yelling at him, my voice rising with every new word that comes out of my mouth.

He frowns. "He was five seconds from plunking an axe into your skull, Bonnie!" he yells back at me. I have obviously hit a nerve. "So unless you have healing powers I don't know about, I would probably be trying to put your brain back into your skull right now."

"You can't just go around killing people," I hiss through my teeth, trying to calm down, but just looking at his face is all I need to get riled up. I try not to think about what he said because the image in my head it too real.

He bites at his lower lip. "Look, I know you love all the grey parts, but sometimes the world is just black and white. This was one of those times," he points at the dead body by our feet, "Kill or be killed. It was his job to kill us. His instinct to kill me. And he wouldn't have stopped trying to do so until he succeeds, and I was not going to let that happen. I won't bury you here, Bonnie!" there's a fire in his eyes, trying to show me the way his mind works. It's often not ruled by rationality, but passion, and I'm not sure I'll even understand a person who doesn't at least try to think something through. "You can't save everyone. Especially not those who don't want to be saved."

He steps around me before I have a chance to fire back.

I guess it's a good thing he does so because I don't have an answer ready.

"Let's go before the rest of them come looking for him," he calls for me.

I refuse to look at the boy. I want to bury him, but then his people probably won't find him and maybe there's another way they pay respect to their dead.

We have taken enough from them as it is.

I run after Damon and hear him murmur under his breath. "Unless you really have a death wish."

* * *

We reach a house fairly quickly. I almost forget we have been walking for a long time before I requested to rest. If we didn't stop, I wonder, would the boys still find us?

The house resembles a 16th century castle. It's placed on the top of a hill, surrounded by thick walls. There are two flat roofed towers standing proudly above the castle, which is made out of cold, grey stone. The windows are tiny, but there's a lot of them, placed just inches apart. We're standing on a path which leads to the arc.

We make our way towards it without exchanging a word.

It's so hard for the two of us to find a common ground.

We walk through the arc into the castles yard. It's empty, lifeless, deserted. Like no one lives here. There are no tables or chairs or plants that would indicate some sign of life. Instead there's just dirt and wind that carries it.

The doors on our left open on their own. They're tiny and wooden, resembling a hidden patch more than doors. I look at Damon wearily, but he looks like he thinks there's no other choice.

So we walk to the doors and squeeze ourselves through them. I step through them easily, but Damon has a harder time coming inside.

I can barely see where I'm going so I outstretch my arms to lean onto the wall. The hallway is narrow, I have to bend my arms at my elbows, unable to stretch them fully.

We reach a flight of stairs leading downstairs, deeper into the ground.

I don't look at Damon this time, I know we have no other choice but to go downstairs.

The stairs are made out of stone, rocky and uneven. They're spiraling down, making me keep my palms against the walls so I make sure I don't stumble downstairs.

I can see the light, bright and yellow, which is how I know we're close to reaching the end of the stairs.

When I finally step from the last stair onto the straight, hard ground, I see a girl standing in the middle of the room, her arms behind her back, one hand gripping onto the other tightly. She's rocking back and forth on her heels. There's a huge smile across her face.

She's not surprised to see us at all. Quite the contrary, it looks like she's been expecting us.

"Hello," she says cheerfully.

She's a tiny little thing with a face of a teenager, but judging just by her posture I wouldn't say she's more than ten years old. She's wearing a short black skirt with a matching tank top and colorful knee length socks. There are high Converses on her feet. She looks like one of those punk girls from cartoons.

"Hello," I greet her back, trying to smile. "You knew we are coming?"

She giggles, her bright green eyes growing wider with amusement. Her silky blonde hair, which glows under the direct light she's standing under, is tied into a ponytail, in exception of two purple strands hanging freely, framing her face.

"Of course," her voice is light and colorful, "Do you think we would let you inside if we didn't know who you are or where you're coming from?"

We? I can't see anyone else in the room but her, and under this light I should be able to see everything and everyone.

"Although we are not so pleased that you brought your vampire pet with you," she frowns in Damon's direction, as if she had only just now noticed him standing next to me.

"Speak for yourself," I hear a voice coming from behind us, but when I turn around I can't see anything. Then, just a moment later, a boy steps out of the dark, from the same flight of stairs we came down with.

He resembles the girl a lot - they share the same facial lines, so smooth and light, like someone sketched them with a softest graphite there is. It's so obvious they're related. He's a lot taller than her, though. Maybe even taller than Damon. Tall and lean, not too bony, but bony enough to present his posture as gracious. They share the same eyes, but his are filled with amusement and wonder and _wickedness_. Not the bad kind, though, but the kind that's dangerous enough to make your knees shake, but not enough to do any real damage. His eyebrows are thicker, but it looks good on him, they fill his face nicely. His hair is short and sandy, reminding me of Stefan's.

He's gorgeous. Unearthly gorgeous. The most beautiful boy I've ever seen. The only thing he's missing is a pair of wings to match his porcelain skin.

He comes down among us, smirking at me. I blush when I realize I've been staring at him like an idiot.

"I love vampires. They're fun. They know how to party," he shrugs.

The girl scowls at him when he comes to stand next to her.

Judging by their clothes they don't even look like they come from the same century. He's wearing black, silky suit pants with a matching dress shirt tucked around his belt. Above it there's a golden vest, one that doesn't look tacky, but rather luxurious.

"Until they rip someone open on our carpet and I have to clean it afterwards," she says stiffly.

"Come on!" the boy says cheerfully, as if it's not a big deal, "That happened only once. The guy had too much whiskey in his blood."

I can basically hear Damon's lips stretching into a grin. The two of them are going to get along just fine.

"Plus, he deserved it. He should have never said that about the guys sister."

I watch this pleasant exchange in horror. I can't believe they're treating such a situation lightly.

The girl rolls her eyes. "But she is a whore."

"Milly!" the boy clasps his palm against his chest, where his heart is, faking shock, "Such language. I'm appalled!" he grins at her, deserving himself a punch in the shoulder. Her fist barely reaches him, she has to step on her toes to reach him that high. "The proper term is a woman of loose morals who enjoys sexual activity."

"Whatever," she says with disinterest, clearly done with this conversation.

"How.. how could you let such a thing happen?" I ask them. They're witches. And all witches live by the same code. We don't kill, we protect. And we don't let others kill each other. We don't just stand idly by.

The girl looks horrified by my accusation. "We don't care what happens among their kind. If they want to kill each other until there's no one left, they're free to do so. We only act when they attack other species."

I've been among vampires for far too long, making friends with them. Of course they don't care if vampires kill each other off by themselves - they're natural enemies.

"Oh, this is becoming so depressing," the boy rolls his eyes, "I'm Arden," he points to himself, "Shortened for Millard."

How is that shortened for Millard?

As if he knows what I'm thinking, he continues. "And this is my sister Milly," he points at the girl who waves at us, "Also shortened for Millard."

"Yeah, our parents had a real good sense of humor," she says with disgust.

"Now," Arden waves his hand and two chairs from across the room appear behind us, "Sit. I believe we have business to discuss."

"Yes," I sit down, eager to get to the point. Damon follows my lead. "We heard you might be able to help us."

"We come from Earth," Damon takes over, "We came here by mistake."

"It was an unfortunate turn of events," I add.

The siblings - Twins is what Aphids called them, even though they don't look like twins at all - keep looking between the two of us.

"We heard you might have a way to help us get back."

"Oh, we might," Arden says gleefully, "It's really my sisters experimentation," he leans against a wall, looking as if he's suddenly bored.

"Yes," Milly clears her throat with a cough, "I've been working on a portal, to get us home as well. I can see it, everything that's going on, like I'm looking through a window to another world. But I haven't been able to send anything through, yet," she bites on her lower lip, "At least not intentionally."

"Can we see?" Damon asks in a hurry.

"Now?" Milly frowns, then shakes her head, "No. The only time it works is when the sun and the moon are in the same position," she adds.

No one says anything for a while, at least not until Damon speaks up, "Then we'll wait."

* * *

_**AN: I'm leaving the country tomorrow, going on a vacation, so I won't update for a little while since I won't have time or access to a computer. I will update as soon as I can, by the end of the next week for sure!**_


End file.
